


Bandages

by kaliawai512



Series: Bandages [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Babybones (Undertale), Brotherly Affection, Childhood Trauma, Cinnamon Roll Papyrus, Fluff, Gen, Handplates, Hurt/Comfort, Mercyplates, Papyrus Needs A Hug, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Past Unethical Experimentation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sans Needs A Hug, sassy sans, zarla-s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaliawai512/pseuds/kaliawai512
Summary: You always have a choice. You can always choose Mercy, no matter how many times you have chosen to Fight. You can always change your mind, become a better person, if you just try. But your actions have consequences, and no amount of Mercy can change what has already been done.Gaster chooses Mercy. He just does it a little too late.Based on Zarla’s “Handplates.”





	1. 1: Little Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> So ever since I read [this post](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/155923727325/heya-i-noticed-that-quite-a-few-of-your-doodles) on Zarla’s Tumblr, I’ve been looking for a way to make this fic happen. I kept running through all the possibilities, things that could genuinely make Gaster change his mind so far in. And then [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/156467008841/previous-next-no-one-is-happy-with-this) happened and I’m like, “Well, darn! There it is!”
> 
> Obviously this isn’t canon, since Handplates is still going on and I sincerely doubt Zarla’s planning a Mercyplates route. This story’s adherence to canon ends with [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/156957316865/previous-next-its-a-sobering-moment-to). But Gaster has been likened to the Genocide-Run Player on several occasions, and this is yet another. Just like the Player could start being merciful at any point, so could Gaster. And this just happens to parallel one of the points in the game that seems to change a lot of people’s minds.
> 
> For those who’ve read _Butterscotch and Bones_ , yes, I plagiarize myself a lot here. There are just some things that make too much sense in both scenarios for me not to do. I also want to make it clear that Gaster is not and is never going to be any semblance of a good dad (no matter what comments some people make within this fic). He was already psychologically abusing/neglecting the boys before the overt physical abuse began, and Zarla has said that him not torturing them wouldn’t make him any better of a father to them. Just so no one misinterprets anything. And if you're coming here from _Butterscotch and Bones_ ... this is much less fluffy. Like, a lot less fluffy.
> 
> Certain dialogue and images (plus, y’know, this whole AU, but those specifically) are taken directly from Zarla’s [comics](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/141403122987/any-way-we-could-maybe-get-an-au-where-gaster-went). Please check them out. And if you haven't, you should really go read [Handplates](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/139516306171/okay-i-get-a-lot-of-questions-about-what-order-the).
> 
> New chapters will be posted on Sundays and Thursdays. I hope you all enjoy! :)

It was probably the single most shocking moment of Asgore’s life.

It was also the cause of the biggest smile he had worn since he still had a wife and two children to call his own.

Gaster hadn’t warned him about it. Not much, at least. He had been away from work for almost two weeks now, claiming some sort of personal emergency, and Asgore hadn’t questioned it. Even if Gaster just needed some time off and was afraid to ask, Asgore was happy that he was getting away from the lab for a while.

When Gaster came back, he had said that he foresaw his work schedule changing, and that he had some small changes to his life that Asgore might want to be aware of.

Well, the “changes” were indeed small, just as everyone was small from Asgore’s point of view.

They were also two of the most precious little monsters that Asgore had ever seen.

And _skeletons._

Two healthy, _living_ skeleton children, looking up at him as if he were the strangest thing they had ever seen.

Gaster had introduced them, quietly, curtly, like he might discuss the weather, but Asgore could tell he was holding something back. He had always tried so hard to suppress his stronger emotions, and Asgore supposed, as hard as it was for him to imagine, that he would do so in this situation, too.

But Asgore didn’t mind. He could deal with that later.

All he could focus on was talking to the boys—or one of them, as the other seemed more inclined to silence—before offering them his garden to play in while he brought in tea and snacks for Gaster and himself. He set up a little table near the edge of the room, and couldn’t even feel guilty that his attention was drawn away from his old friend by the two small children who were slowly making their way out into the yellow flowers.

“Oh, they’re just adorable, Dr. Gaster!” he said, his smile echoing in his voice, as soon as the boys were far enough out of earshot that they probably wouldn’t overhear. Papyrus bent over to brush his fingers over the petals of the flowers more gently than even Asgore himself, while Sans stood beside him, watching in silence. “And so big, too! How did you keep them a secret for so long? Where did they come from? Is there a partner of yours I should know about?”

He turned to Gaster with a slightly mischievous grin, even as Gaster’s face went completely stiff. Asgore had long accepted that his old friend would remain single and childless, and if that was his preference, Asgore wasn’t going to push him. But the thought of him finding someone, having _two children,_ all without Asgore hearing a word about it—

Gaster cleared his throat, avoiding Asgore’s gaze with practiced skill.

“ _I …_ ” His magic hands started forming several different words, cutting themselves off, before at last they settled on what they were trying to say. “ _I … found them in the … garbage._ ”

Silence, save for the quiet murmuring of the boys on the other side of the room. Asgore blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“ _I … found them rooting through the garbage,_ ” Gaster went on, more assuredly now, though his hands still stumbled around the words—his version of stuttering. “ _When I went to the dump. They were digging through the trash and apparently didn’t have anywhere else to go. So I … took them home._ ”

Asgore blinked again, then looked back to where Papyrus had pulled his brother down beside him to look at the flowers more closely. His brow rose, and his chest ached.

“My!” He smiled, more than a little sadly, as he turned to Gaster again. “Well, that’s very kind of you, old friend. I’m sure they’re very grateful.”

Gaster stared at his cup of tea as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. His head jerked forward in a tiny attempt at a nod, but otherwise he didn’t move. Asgore almost asked him if he was alright—perhaps this had been more of a stress on him than he was letting on?—but he found his eyes drifting back to the boys.

He put a hand to his chin. “It is strange, though. I haven’t seen a skeleton other than yourself for some time. And I certainly couldn’t imagine anyone abandoning them …”

He had hoped Gaster would have some sort of theory on that matter, just as he seemed to have an opinion on everything. But Gaster was silent, far more silent than Asgore had known him to be, just as he had been since the moment he arrived.

Asgore sighed, and did his best to smile again.

“Well, in any case, I’m glad they’re safe now,” he said. His smile widened, and his SOUL warmed like it hadn’t in a very long time. “Sans and Papyrus. Fine names for such fine young skeletons.”

“THANK YOU!”

Asgore’s head jerked to the right, only to find said skeletons standing closer—at least close enough to make out the words Asgore had made no attempt to hide. Papyrus was grinning, while Sans just stared, his permanent smile tight and awkward, his small body entirely out of place in the oversized black pants, and the even more oversized blue coat, Gaster must have given him.

Still, Asgore smiled back. “You’re quite welcome, dear child.”

Papyrus beamed, then dragged his brother off to another part of the garden, even as Sans kept looking back at the table.

Only once they seemed distracted did Asgore lean in over his cup of tea, lowering his voice.

“Gaster, I must ask … are they injured?”

Gaster’s head, which had hung a bit in what Asgore supposed was deep thought, snapped up. His whole body stiffened, though it hadn’t seemed at all relaxed since he got here. “ _I’m … sorry?_ ”

“Their hands,” Asgore said, glancing over to ensure the boys didn’t seem to be listening. “They’re bandaged.”

And thoroughly bandaged, at that. Asgore had been so shocked to see them when they first came in that he hadn’t noticed. Not to mention the fact that their large clothes hung a bit over their hands. But then Papyrus lifted his right hand in a wave, and Asgore quickly confirmed that each of them had one hand wrapped in white cloth.

“ _Oh, yes,_ ” Gaster began again, so quickly that Asgore almost didn’t catch the signs. “ _Well, there are a lot of sharp objects in the garbage dump. Their hands were quite damaged when I found them, so I thought it best to bandage them._ ”

Asgore made a pained face. “Oh, dear. Would you like me to try healing them? I’d be happy to—”

“ _No, no, there’s no need,_ ” Gaster cut in. “ _I already did all I could and it looks like the damage may be permanent._ ”

Asgore blinked a few times. His friend was acting more than odd, but then again, Gaster had never been anything resembling ordinary. And he was here, out of the lab, accepting a cup of tea. Yes, all this unexpected stress was surely taking its toll.

He shook his head with a soft, aching sigh.

“Goodness. What awful things must those poor boys have gone through?” he murmured. It was more to himself than to Gaster, but Gaster flinched, a full-body motion, before picking up his teacup and taking a far-too-large sip. Asgore supposed the thought must disturb him just as much, especially with so few of his own kind left. He put a finger to his lips. “Well, perhaps I could find them some gloves then. To replace the bandages.”

Gaster stared at him for a few seconds, face blank, before he nodded again, a bit less awkward than before.

“ _Yes. Of course. Gloves._ ”

“Their left hands aren’t injured, though?” Asgore asked. “I didn’t see any scarring, but I haven’t looked closely. It’s only their right hands?”

Before Gaster could reply, both of them turned at the sound of footsteps, and Asgore tensed when he found both boys approaching, already well within earshot. Papyrus was still grinning, though a bit less widely now, and Sans was eying Gaster, his constant smile tilted into something that resembled a smirk.

He took a deep breath, as if to speak.

“ _Yes,_ ” Gaster said, before Sans could get out a word. Even if Asgore couldn’t understand his speech, his tone of voice came out tight. “ _Very peculiar, I know._ ”

Asgore raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” he murmured, thoughtful, searching his friend’s face for any clue of what was wrong.

But Gaster just raised his teacup and took another long sip.

Asgore sighed, then turned to the boys, now standing just beside the table, with a smile. “Hello, there. Is there anything you boys needed?”

Papyrus stepped a little closer. The bright smile that hadn’t left his face since he came in slipped a bit more, and he fidgeted, wringing his hands, playing with one of the bandage tails like a nervous tick.

He glanced back at Sans, then met Asgore’s eyes with a mixture of hesitance and determination.

“CAN I … HAVE A HUG, PLEASE?”

Asgore’s brow shot up. From the look on Papyrus’s face, he might as well have just asked to have his own castle made of solid gold. But there was such hope in his wide sockets. Asgore felt his whole body relax into a soft smile.

“Of course.”

Papyrus stood up straighter, staring for a moment before he broke out into the widest grin Asgore had seen on a skeleton in decades. “OH YAY!”

Asgore chuckled, then pushed his chair away from the table enough to hold out his arms. Papyrus all but leapt into his embrace, squeezing him as tight as he could given that his arms didn’t even make it halfway around his middle. Asgore held him gently, unsure of how fragile these children might be, but even that small gesture made Papyrus giggle with delight. He rubbed his face against the fabric of Asgore’s shirt, his whole body relaxing into the hug.

A minute later, he slipped down, such pure joy in his eyes that it almost hurt to look at.

“THANK YOU!” he said.

Asgore laughed, even though it pained and confused him that a child should be so grateful for a simple embrace. “You’re quite welcome!”

Sans still stood nearby, looking back and forth between the three people in front of him. He had scarcely said a word since he came in, or done anything except follow his brother around, but Asgore wouldn’t think to call anyone with such sharp, observant eyes idle.

Papyrus looked ready to run back into the garden, when he paused, his gaze drawn to the plate of cookies sitting at the center of the table. His face lit up once more, and he leaned forward, reaching for the plate.

One of Gaster’s own hands rose, ready to smack the bony little hand away.

Asgore tensed.

Gaster froze.

He looked up, finding Asgore watching him, then looked to Papyrus, who had paused, slowly pulling his hand back, his enthusiasm dimmed and his head hung low. Gaster closed his one good eye, head turned away, and let out a soft, tight sigh.

“ _You should ask first._ ”

Papyrus stared at Gaster, then at his own hand, as if he were surprised not to have felt it struck. Sans’s sockets narrowed, but he said nothing.

Asgore did his best to smile through his discomfort.

“They’re welcome to as many cookies as they like,” he said, directing his words as much to the boys as to Gaster. “I should have offered earlier. After all, two growing children need plenty of food. If you’re hungry enough, I could take you to the kitchen and we could find something a bit more substantial for you to eat.”

And just like that, the hesitation, the fear—had it really been fear? Had Gaster struck them in the past? He would have to have a talk with him about that—vanished, and Papyrus was right back to beaming that wide, eager grin, hands clasped in front of him in glee.

“REALLY?”

Gaster held up his real hands as well as his magical ones, though he still wouldn’t meet Asgore’s gaze. “ _Your Majesty, you really don’t need to—_ ”

“I insist!” Asgore cut in, pushing himself out of his chair, snatching two cookies from the plate as he went and handing one to each of the children. “If they come around here often, and I certainly hope they do, they’ll need to know how to find the kitchen! Come along, boys, I’ll show you the way.”

Papyrus clapped and followed him, Sans right at his side, already munching on the cookie in his hand.

When Asgore glanced over his shoulder, just before leaving the room, he found Gaster still sitting at the table, staring down at his unfinished cup of tea as if it had all the answers to the world.

He had never looked quite so tired, so defeated and empty, in all his life.

But Asgore pushed it aside for now, vowing to deal with it later. Gaster had always worked himself far too hard, and with a responsibility like this, certainly he would only work himself harder. The happiness would come soon. The smiles, the laughs, the sweet words, that made all the sleepless nights and frustrations and desperation worth it by far. With two boys as precious as this, there was no doubt.

If Gaster had decided to take on fatherhood, then Asgore would make sure he enjoyed every second of it.


	2. 2: Home(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are incredible. Seriously, thank you. :)
> 
> Just a friendly reminder that Handplates belongs to [Zarla](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/), who is awesome and amazing and talented and without whom this story (and pretty much all the others I've got posted or planned in this fandom) wouldn't exist.

Sans had no idea what a normal bedroom was supposed to look like, but given his brief experiences of the outside world, he got the impression that most of them were more interesting than this.

His brother adored it, though, and Sans couldn’t bring himself to contradict him.

And it was better than the cell. Pretty much _anything_ would have been better than the cell, but this was definitely better. It had a light they could actually turn on and off from the inside, and a window that let them look out onto the white landscape outside the house—he still wasn’t used to that thing called “snow.” Instead of a bench, there was a bed, a real bed, like the one He had put them in when they were badly injured and unconscious, but which they kept all the time.

Best of all, there was a door. A door that couldn’t be locked from the outside, to keep them in.

A door that _could_ be locked from the inside, to keep other people _out._

 _He_ hated it when Sans locked the door, and He probably could have blasted it down or removed it if He wanted. But He hadn’t.

Besides, Papyrus insisted that they keep it unlocked most of the time, and Sans had never been able to deny his brother anything.

Especially now.

Papyrus had been admiring his bright red gloves ever since they got back to the house. He hadn’t taken off the bandages underneath yet—they were tied on really tightly—but they could work on that tomorrow. Sans didn’t really care about his own bandages. Besides, he was sure his brother would take them off for him if he waited long enough.

The gloves were nice. The king had even let them choose the colors. It made it very, very easy to pretend that there was nothing different about their hands, nothing to hide, nothing that made him flinch every time he looked down. If he could manage it, Sans would never take them off.

But no amount of cloth could keep him from feeling the metal plate against his bones.

He was used to that, though, and sitting here now, with his brother clearly content, he could ignore it.

A while after they returned, when they got bored enough, Papyrus popped off one of his arms and suggested a bone-tossing game. Sans agreed, and after that, rather than talking about nothing in particular or playing with the color cube or staring at the wall, they tossed Papyrus’s arm back and forth from their positions at either end of the bed. It was still boring, but it was something to do to fill the time.

Time without pain.

Time that Sans had once wished with all his SOUL they could have.

Time that, now that they had it, neither of them seemed to know what to do with.

“TODAY WAS FUN,” Papyrus said after what must have been more than ten minutes of silence.

Sans caught the arm and held it for a moment before tossing it back. “mm.”

“THE KING WAS VERY NICE,” his brother went on, smiling as he threw his own detached limb back. “I HOPE WE SEE HIM AGAIN!”

“yeah,” Sans muttered. This time, when the arm landed in his grasp, he stared down at it, examining it more closely than usual. It was the arm with the plate—the bandages, now. Not the arm He had broken. Yet Sans swore he could see where the bone had been snapped in two, where it had healed and probably been broken a dozen times again later on.

He ran his fingers over it in a gentle caress, and imagined his brother could feel it.

“BROTHER?” Papyrus called him, his browbone furrowed and his smile fallen to a worried frown. “DIDN’T YOU HAVE FUN?”

Sans sighed, then shrugged as he returned the arm at last, barely throwing it hard enough to make it across the bed. “i guess.”

His brother leaned forward to catch his arm, but this time, rather than toss it back, he just reattached it and scooted closer. He was smiling again, that soft, comforting smile that had made up the best of Sans’s world for so long.

“THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER NOW. AND … THEY’RE GOING TO KEEP GETTING BETTER,” he said as he settled back down with less than a foot of space between them. “HE’S DIFFERENT. YOU SAW. HE DIDN’T EVEN SMACK MY HAND AWAY WHEN I TRIED TO GET A COOKIE.”

“cause the king was there,” Sans muttered.

Papyrus paused, his smile almost falling before he pushed it up again.

“WELL … HE STILL STOPPED. HE HASN’T PUSHED US OR GRABBED US EVEN ONCE SINCE WE GOT HERE. NOT WITH BLUE MAGIC OR ANYTHING!”

True. But a good part of that was probably because He avoided being around them at all.

They could leave their room whenever they liked, but they didn’t, at least after their initial hesitant exploration of the rest of the house. He hadn’t explicitly forbidden it, but leaving the room meant a good chance of bumping into Him, and neither Sans nor his brother were particularly eager to do that.

So they stayed in their room and talked and played, just as they had done in the cell.

Except now, He only came to bring them meals.

And there hadn’t been a single experiment or test since before they left the lab.

Fourteen days. It had been fourteen days since He took them out of there.

Sans was still waiting to see how long this new life would last.

“HE TOOK US SOMEPLACE NEW.”

He looked up, only to realize that he had been staring at the floor. His eyes settled on his brother, now sitting even closer.

“huh?”

“I KNOW YOU’RE WORRIED,” Papyrus said. He fidgeted and wrung his hands in his lap, his bright confidence slipping for just a moment. “I’M … I WORRY SOMETIMES, TOO.”

Sans’s breath caught in his throat. But a moment later, his brother met his eyes again, his smile returned, even if it was hesitant and small. It shined with the same hope that had lit up that dark cell, as comforting as his orange glow.

“BUT … HE’S NEVER TAKEN US OUT SOMEWHERE ELSE BEFORE, EXCEPT ON THE WAY HERE. AND WE MET SOMEONE NEW! SOMEONE WHO DIDN’T WANT HIM TO HURT US, NOT EVEN A LITTLE!” he went on, his smile growing with each word that left his mouth. “IF HE DID THAT … IT MEANS WE’RE NOT A SECRET. SO … HE ISN’T GOING TO HURT US ANYMORE. IF HE WAS, HE WOULDN’T HAVE LET ANYONE ELSE SEE US, RIGHT?”

He was so hopeful, so eager, so _certain_ that everything was going to turn out alright. Just like he had been from the beginning. Just like he had been even in their worst moments.

Even when all he could do was hug his knees with his recently-broken arm and sob that it was so hard to keep believing, but he couldn’t do anything else.

He really was the stronger one.

Sans huffed a sigh, his shoulders tense, his gaze drifting off to the side.

“yeah. maybe.”

A second later, he felt two arms wrap around his back and pull him closer, until his head rested just under his brother’s chin and his body settled in his lap. The same position they had spent so many of the peaceful moments in. The most comforting place Sans had ever known.

He let out a shuddering breath and nestled against the only person in the world who mattered to him, and as he closed his eyes, a warm orange glow surrounded him, soothing him, while his brother’s fingers stroked the top of his skull.

“IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY, BROTHER,” Papyrus said, as quietly as he had ever said anything. “WE’RE BOTH OKAY, AND WE’RE TOGETHER, AND WE’RE OUTSIDE! IT’S WHAT WE ALWAYS WANTED!”

Sans squeezed his sockets shut and buried his face close to his brother’s neck.

And he begged whatever had finally listened to their pleas, whatever had listened to a single wish after hundreds ignored, that this time, his brother would be right.

They separated at some point, but rather than go back to the bone-tossing game, they simply sat on the edge of the bed, Sans completely still and Papyrus swinging his legs back and forth and humming a little tune he had probably picked up from the king earlier that day. After a few minutes, he picked up his color cube and started playing with it. He offered to give Sans a turn, but Sans shook his head, saying that he had gotten bored with it already. Papyrus shrugged and went back to his favorite—and only—toy.

That was how they stayed until the footsteps sounded in the hall outside.

The doorknob turned with a small creak. Sans jerked his head up, inching closer to his brother, his eyelights shrinking to pinpoints.

Then the knob stopped.

A second later, Sans heard the faint, awkward sound of a bony hand tapping on the wood. Papyrus’s head perked up, and his face broke into a smile as he set the cube aside.

“COME IN!”

Sans wanted to groan at his brother’s eagerness to welcome Him into the first space they had ever had that was completely their own. But a little voice in his head reminded him that that was what made his brother _himself,_ and Sans would never want him any other way.

The door opened.

And He stepped in from the hall.

Gaster. That was His name. He had a name now, one that other people called him, one that apparently they were meant to call him as well. Not that they had ever called him anything else before.

But even if he hadn’t used it, Sans was still glad to know it.

Somehow, it made Him seem more vulnerable.

Not that He didn’t look vulnerable already.

It had been days since he had last met either of their eyes, and now was no different. In a way, it was like certain days in the lab, when he refused to make eye contact as a way to refuse to acknowledge them as living, feeling beings. In appearance, it was identical. But Sans had been looking past appearances for far too long not to notice the different.

He was holding a plate, and now he set it down on the floor just inside the room.

“Dinner.”

Sans still hadn’t gotten used to meals having names depending on the time of day. Granted, he also hadn’t gotten used to there being times of day other than “he just woke up,” “he’s been up for a while,” and “the lights are off.” Apparently that was what normal people did. They had names for the times of day and meals were different depending on when they were eaten.

To Sans, food was just food. But he definitely didn’t mind learning a few new words.

Papyrus climbed off the bed, as he always did, still smiling. “THANK YOU!”

Gaster said nothing. He didn’t even look at him. But Papyrus’s smile didn’t falter. Gaster turned around and started back out into the hall.

But just before he pulled the door shut behind him, he paused. Sans and Papyrus waited. Gaster seemed to argue with himself for a moment before, at last, his voice came out again, just as quiet and blank as before.

“If … you want to play in the living room … you may. As long as you’re quiet.”

Before either of them could respond, before they could even process what had been said, He pushed the door shut, and His footsteps echoed down the hall until they disappeared altogether.

Sans stared at the door while Papyrus scampered across the room to pick up the plate, heaped high with something that looked soft, orange, and lumpy. Papyrus grinned.

“IT’S PASTA TONIGHT, BROTHER. AND THERE ARE FORKS FOR US TO USE, LIKE AT THE CASTLE! COME ON, I’LL HELP YOU WITH YOURS. AFTER WE FINISH EATING, WE CAN GO LOOK AROUND THE REST OF THE HOUSE. I BET THERE ARE LOTS OF THINGS WE HAVEN’T SEEN YET, SINCE WE’RE IN HERE ALL THE TIME!”

He set the plate down on the bed and handed Sans one of the long silver utensils neither of them knew how to use very well. As usual, he waited until Sans had picked up his first bite before taking his own, and at perfectly matched rates, they began to eat, savoring the unfamiliar but pleasant flavor of what Sans vaguely remembered was called “macaroni and cheese.”

Even when they went into the living room a while later to sit on the floor, explore, and stare at the books on the shelves they couldn’t yet read, neither of them saw Gaster again for the rest of the night.


	3. 0: Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys ever going to stop being amazing? Cause you really, really are. :)
> 
> On a side note, I decided to start an [author Tumblr](https://kaliawai512.tumblr.com/), in case you'd like to interact over there. I'm currently getting up to date on that blog with both this fic and Butterscotch and Bones, but once it's updated I'll be posting links to new chapters over there as they come out.
> 
> And on another side note, for those of you who don't follow Zarla obsessively like I do, you may have missed [this amazing game](http://opensorcerygames.azurewebsites.net/Clean%20Hands.html). Seriously, I don't like games. I've never even played Undertale past the early parts of the Ruins. But this game? Awesome. Just awesome. Trigger warning for PTSD, trauma, drills, and, well, it's a text game based on Handplates, you can probably guess what to expect.

“BROTHER?”

One didn’t know how long he had been staring at the ceiling, thinking, but as usual, his brother’s voice shattered his train of thought, and he tilted his head just enough to see the sockets staring at him from next to the bench.

“yeah?”

His brother twisted his color cube once, then twice, though he didn’t seem to be trying to solve it. It looked more like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He glanced at the doorway, his mouth a straight line, then back to One again. “DOESN’T HE USUALLY COME IN BY NOW?”

One followed his gaze to the currently-invisible beams in front of the hall.

“yeah,” he muttered, without much feeling or thought. “usually.”

Another few twists of the color cube.

“DO YOU THINK HE’S … TAKING A DAY OFF?” his brother asked, and One grimaced at the twinge of concern in his voice—though whether it was concern for their own wellbeing or concern for Him, he couldn’t tell. “I THINK I HEARD HIM MENTION SOMETHING LIKE THAT ONCE.”

One looked back to the ceiling with a slight shrug. “i dunno.”

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything. The lights had been on for a long time now, far longer than usually passed without Him coming to get them. And One couldn’t decide whether he was glad about it, or whether he was afraid this meant something even worse than usual.

He didn’t want to know what could be worse than … _that._

“MAYBE HE ISN’T GOING TO DO ANY EXPERIMENTS TODAY,” his brother said, shaking him out of his thoughts again. He stood up and stepped closer, into One’s line of view, his mouth tilted into a growing smile. “OR MAYBE HE DOESN’T WANT TO DO ANY MORE AT ALL! MAYBE HE CHANGED HIS MIND!”

A tiny part of One—the part of him that still remembered yesterday, that still remembered _how close they had come to never hurting again_ —wanted to shout that that was ridiculous. He had said it before, hadn’t he? _He_ would never change. He was never going to change, He would just keep hurting them forever and ever and—

But one more look at that smile made the idea of shouting, shouting at the one person he cared about, seem like the worst idea he had ever had.

He sighed. “maybe.”

His brother didn’t say anything else, and after a minute, he went back to twisting his color cube, with more purpose this time, and One returned to staring at the ceiling.

At some point, he sat up and stared at the wall instead. There were a few tiny cracks near the edges. He would have thought that after so long in the cell, he would have noticed everything by now, but apparently not. He had stared at the wall for a long time yesterday. A long time after his brother came back. A long time after they shouted at each other. A long time before they fell asleep alone.

It was the worst night of One’s entire life.

And he could still feel the anger bubbling up inside him. He could still feel the pain, the betrayal, the utter _helplessness_ as he watched their one chance of escape slip through his fingers like water. And his brother was angry at him, when was the last time his brother had been really _angry_ at him?

He hated it.

He would have taken a thousand more of the most painful experiments if it meant he would never feel that again.

He had been afraid, so afraid, that it would stay like that. That they would keep sitting on opposite sides of the room, not speaking. And when the lights turned on, at first, they did. They sat by the walls, turned away from each other, eyes blank.

But then time passed, and He didn’t come. And it became harder and harder for One to sit there in the overwhelming silence, feeling the tension sparking between them like another set of beams, feeling the emptiness grow in his chest until it threatened to consume him. Until he was ready to never stand up again.

So it had been nothing less than the greatest relief of his life when, after hours of nothing, his brother crossed the cell and pulled him into the tightest hug he could manage without snapping One in two.

One barely managed to hold back the stream of tears that probably would have drowned him if he let it out.

It was over.

It wasn’t over, it would never be over, but his brother wasn’t mad at him, and he couldn’t stay mad at his brother. After they separated, One had waited for Him to come, as He inevitably would, to take one of them and go right back to the way things were.

But He didn’t.

The lights were on. They had been on for a long time. But He still didn’t come.

“BROTHER?”

One didn’t even bother to look away from the wall. “mm?”

“I’M HUNGRY,” his brother said, more stating a fact than complaining, though One could hear a bit of ache in his voice. “I HOPE HE DOESN’T FORGET TO FEED US.”

And suddenly One found himself sitting up straighter, eyes still locked on the wall, but a good deal wider than before.

What if He did forget to feed them?

What if He didn’t come back? What if He just left them there, trapped behind the beams forever? There would be no more experiments, no more fear, no more pain, but …

They would die. They would sit here, trapped, and starve to death.

Maybe this was another experiment. He had tried to test them before, to give them fewer resources so they would fight over them. Maybe He wanted to see what would happen, how long they would last, whether they would start hurting each other, whether they would fight, whether they would—

One put his hands to his head and forced himself to breathe.

No. No. They were fine. Right here, right now, they were fine. He wasn’t here. And they were together.

As long as they were together, everything would be alright.

But several minutes later, in the silence, One felt his brother’s arms encircle him and pull him into a hug, and One held him in return, nestling his head under his chin, forcing back the panic threatening to consume him.

They sat. They listened. They waited.

One didn’t even know what he was hoping for.

Then, without warning, the beams began to glow, and both their heads shot up so fast it was a wonder their skulls didn’t snap off their spines.

Footsteps approached, and a second later, He stood there, in the hall, right on the other side. He wasn’t holding a clipboard, like He sometimes did. He wasn’t looking at them, or eying one of them in particular, sizing them up for whatever He was going to do to them next.

He was holding a plate of sandwiches, and He was staring at the floor just in front of them with a face blanker than One had ever seen.

He put his hand to the keypad, and the beams disappeared. One sat up straighter, bracing himself, holding his brother a little tighter. But He didn’t call for one of them. He just set the plate down inside of the cell, stepped back out, and reactivated the beams.

Then He turned and walked away.

They stared at the beams. They waited. One strained his hearing for any sign of the footsteps coming back, maybe He had forgotten something, maybe He just needed to set down the food before He came back, maybe …

The minutes passed. The sandwiches sat on the floor.

He didn’t come back.

“HE DIDN’T TAKE US,” came his brother’s voice into the silence, familiar and warm and the only thing that grounded One as his entire world collapsed around him. One could hear the glee in the words, the smile that he didn’t turn to see, the arms that tightened around him in joy rather than fear. “BROTHER, HE DIDN’T TAKE EITHER OF US!”

But One was still staring at the beams, or, rather, the doorway, where the beams had disappeared.

He was gone. He had left.

He could still come back. He could still take one of them. He could still put them through hell, just like He had so many times before. But …

His brother had already stood up and walked over to the plate of sandwiches. He bent down and picked it up, smiling.

“THERE’S MORE FOOD HERE THAN USUAL. DO YOU THINK HE REALIZED HE FORGOT TO FEED US BEFORE?”

He walked back over to the bench and set the sandwiches down between them, taking one and biting into it. He hummed in appreciation, but as he swallowed, he turned to One with a concerned tilt of his head.

“BROTHER.” When he got no response, he picked up another sandwich and held it out toward One. “COME ON, BROTHER, YOU MUST BE HUNGRY, TOO.”

One had no doubt that his brother would feed him by hand if he had to, but he pulled himself out of his daze enough to take the sandwich. Smiling again, his brother went back to eating, sockets closed in quiet contentment as he munched away. It took another minute for One to bring his own sandwich to his mouth.

A while after they finished eating, the lights turned off.

One and his brother stared at the ceiling for several minutes after that, one of them beaming with relieved glee, and the other almost falling off the bench as his mind struggled to comprehend this new piece in his reality.

But at last, he brushed it off.

Today had been a fluke. Yesterday had been … different. An anomaly, as He would have called it.

Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal. Just like it always did.

He would show up and take one or both of them to be tortured or poked or burned or electrocuted or pushed to their limits. Just like he always did.

Nothing would change. Nothing ever changed.

Those words repeated over and over again in his head, even as he settled into his brother’s lap and closed his eyes to sleep.

When the lights turned on again, shaking One awake, he stiffened twice as hard as usual, and muffled a whimper against his brother’s gown as he clutched him as hard as he could. His brother wrapped his arms around him and, for once, said nothing. One didn’t need to look up to know his smile was gone, but he could still feel the spark of hope within him, the light that no amount of darkness could scare away.

After what felt like both a very long and very short time, the footsteps came.

They held each other. They waited.

He appeared on the other side of the beams.

The beams disappeared.

He set two boxes—like the boxes that had held those cookies—on the floor inside.

He stepped back out and reactivated the beams.

Then he walked away.

Neither One nor his brother moved for a very long time.

Eventually, they ate the food— something savory and crunchy— and returned to the bench, curling together in the corner.

They waited.

They waited a very long time, not talking or walking around or even playing with the color cube.

Then the lights turned off, and yet again, they were left alone in the silence and the dark.


	4. 3: Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing. Just constantly amazing. Thank you. :)

A bell jingled when Gaster pushed open the door, and both Sans and Papyrus tilted their heads up to see it, almost getting smacked in the face when the door began to close on them.

Gaster didn’t notice.

They slipped inside behind him, keeping their distance, taking in all the new, colorful things. Sans wished he had words for them other than “things,” but he doubted Gaster would answer if he asked, and he had been figuring stuff out for himself for almost his entire life. He could keep doing it now.

Besides, he was far too focused on his brother’s enthrallment at this new place to care whether he had the words to describe it.

So this was a “store.”

Gaster had mentioned it a while after breakfast this morning. More precisely, he had told them that they would be going to the store since he needed to buy some things for them. The “for them” part hadn’t really registered in Sans’s head until they were out of the house and Papyrus began skipping through the snow, going on and on about what sorts of new things they were going to get, if they would be colorful or fun or soft or useful or any number of about twenty other adjectives Sans didn’t remember.

There were at least three times during the trip when Sans swore Gaster was going to tell him to be quiet. But he never did.

Then they got to the store, and Papyrus’s stream of chatter died off, replaced by wide sockets and a dropped jaw. Even Sans couldn’t help but stare.

The town was beautiful on its own. Wooden buildings and bright colorful lights and glistening snow and more people than Sans had ever imagined. It was like what his brother had described from his visions in the lab, except it was real, it was detailed, he could see it and hear it and smell it and touch it and it was _amazing._

And the store was better.

It was small, made of brown wood with warm lighting. There were shelves everywhere, near the front and behind a wooden counter, things made of cloth and things that shined and things that looked like the “toys” Asgore had shown them when they looked around the castle. The chill of the outside faded as soon as they stepped inside, and the whole place smelled of something sweet.

After a few moments, a monster slipped through a door in the back, turning toward the counter before their eyes fell on Him.

Their brow rose, and their mouth fell open, curling at the corners in a small, surprised smile.

“Oh, hello, Dr. Gaster! I haven’t seen you here in a while!”

The voice was feminine—Sans was still learning to tell the difference from the few monsters he had met, and it seemed that there were quite a few who weren’t masculine or feminine at all, or at least didn’t use the associated pronouns. Gaster had explained the idea of “she” and “her” and “they” and “them” before they met Asgore. Apparently it was important up here.

The monster in question looked a bit like the bunnies from a book they had seen. She reached the counter and opened her mouth, as if to talk to Gaster, before her eyes fell on them.

Her whole face lit up. First in surprise, and then in a wide grin.

“And who is this?” she asked, her voice slightly higher-pitched than before, the same gleam in her eyes that had been in Asgore’s when he first saw them. “Now I know I haven’t seen you two around here before. I’d remember two little skeletons as cute as you!”

Sans just stared, while Papyrus straightened and gave her a big smile in return. “THANK YOU!”

The monster laughed. It was a strange sound, but not a bad one.

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“I’M TWO—PAPYRUS!” Papyrus replied, and Sans didn’t miss the way Gaster flinched at his near-slip. “MY NAME IS PAPYRUS! AND THIS IS MY BROTHER, SANS!”

If the monster had noticed the mix-up, she gave no sign, only smiling wider at his brother’s enthusiasm. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Bonnie You know, I think I have some lollipops back here … Ah, there we are! On the house!”

She pulled two large, thin, colorful circles on sticks from underneath the counter and held them out. But rather than take one, Papyrus tilted his head, browbone furrowed in thought.

“BUT HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET UP THERE?”

The monster—Bonnie—blinked. “Pardon me?”

“HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET ON TOP OF THE HOUSE?”

She stared for a few moments, the silence in the shop almost heavy. Then she burst into laughter, even as Papyrus continued to stare up at her in utter confusion.

“Oh, aren’t you adorable?” she said at last, still forcing back her chuckles. “That means they’re free, honey. No need to pay.”

Papyrus looked down at the lollipops, then back at her. He beamed, and finally took both lollipops in his hands. “OH! THANK YOU! HERE, BROTHER, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!”

He handed one to Sans and stuck the other in his mouth, moving it around for a second before he hummed in appreciation. Sans swiped his near his teeth. His eyes lit up at the sweet, almost fruity taste. He swiped again and again as his brother twirled his around in his mouth.

Bonnie gave them a soft, fond smile, then finally turned back to the other skeleton in the room. “Now, Dr. Gaster, what can I do for you today?”

Gaster glanced down at Sans and his brother, his gaze unreadable, before snapping up to her again.

“I just need some clothes,” he said, as curt and quietly as he had said almost everything since they left the lab. His magic hands had appeared above his head, signing as Sans had seen them do every time he spoke to anyone other than them. “Children’s clothes.”

Bonnie turned to them again, her brow raised, as if she hadn’t noticed that their clothes were hanging off the ends of their limbs until now.

“Oh, yes, those do look a little big. I’m sure we can find something around here that will fit them. Even if it’s not perfect, my sister just opened an inn next door, and she does some tailoring in her spare time.”

She turned and rummaged through the shelves, pulling out boxes and digging through them before stuffing them back. Papyrus stood on his toes, lollipop still in his mouth, to see better, but Sans doubted that he would get even a slightly better view unless someone picked him up. He considered asking his brother, but before he could even decide whether his brother _could_ lift him that high, Bonnie let out what sounded like a cry of delight.

“Ah, here we are!” She returned to the counter, holding a pile of what Sans could only guess were clothes, smiling once again. “How about some sweaters and pants?”

“Those will be fine,” Gaster said, after glancing at the clothes for about half a second.

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, then turned to Sans and Papyrus with another grin. “How do these look to you, boys?”

She took two sweaters from the pile and held them up so even Sans could see. Papyrus finally took the lollipop out of his mouth and stepped in to see them better. His whole face lit up.

“ARE THOSE FOR US?” he asked, looking back and forth between Bonnie and Gaster. Gaster said nothing, but Bonnie nodded. Papyrus bounced on his feet. “BROTHER, DON’T THEY LOOK NICE?”

“yeah, those’re good,” Sans muttered. They looked like they would fit, at least, and that was better than they had right now.

“How about colors?” Bonnie asked, picking up a few more sweaters. “I’ve got some green ones, some blue ones, and here’s a red one—”

“RED!” Papyrus cut in, pointing one enthusiastic finger. “I LIKE THAT ONE, PLEASE!”

Bonnie chuckled and set that one aside. “Red it is. And for you, hon?”

Sans glanced over the sweaters in her arms, but it took him under five seconds to choose.

“blue.”

“Alright then,” she replied, taking the two sweaters and putting them in a stack. She turned back to Gaster. “Will that be all?”

Gaster opened his mouth, but before he could get out a word—or move his magical hands—Sans had lifted a finger of his free hand and pointed toward one of the shelves.

“that.”

“I’m sorry?” Bonnie asked.

“my brother likes that toy on the shelf back there,” Sans said, letting his hand fall and slipping it into his pocket.

He glanced at Gaster, and Gaster stared at him, his face as blank as it had ever been. Sans swore he saw a touch of irritation flashing in his sockets, but it was gone a second later. Then Gaster looked to Bonnie and gave a tight nod.

“That as well.”

Papyrus’s whole face lit up, and even though that hadn’t been Sans’s main intent, it was a nice side effect.

“Sure thing,” Bonnie replied, smiling again, even if she seemed a little confused. She picked out the toy—Sans had no idea what it was, but it was colorful and shiny and his brother _had_ been looking at it—and placed it on top of the sweaters.

Gaster seemed just about ready to speak again when Sans lifted his finger one more time. “he liked that other toy, too.”

Bonnie blinked. Papyrus looked at Sans with obvious conflict, his eyes drifting toward the toy despite his frown of disapproval. Sans knew the chances of Gaster agreeing were next to none, but watching Bonnie look at him like that, expectant, even a little hopeful, made it more than worth it.

But after a good twenty seconds of silence, no one speaking or moving, Gaster gave a small, dismissive wave toward the shelf of toys.

Papyrus’s jaw all but fell open, and even Sans felt his sockets widen. Bonnie stared for a moment, then smiled, a bit more confused, but still pleased, as she shuffled over to the shelf and grabbed the other toy Sans had indicated.

Before she could even set it down, Sans pointed again.

And again.

And again.

Only after five toys were stacked on top of the sweaters, Papyrus was close to glaring, and even Bonnie looked a bit displeased, did Gaster finally manage to get a word out.

“I think that’s all the gold I’m carrying at the moment,” he said, just as Sans readied himself to point at another toy on the rapidly-clearing shelves. Sans let his finger fall. It would have been easy, given Gaster’s curt tone and how well Sans knew him, to assume that he was lying. But when Sans looked to him, he found Gaster actually glancing down at the gold coins in the pouch at his side, as if he really doubted whether there would be enough. “That will be all, please.”

Bonnie glanced down at Sans, then at Papyrus. She raised an eyebrow at Sans. Maybe she had noticed that his “smile” was closer to a smirk than the beaming grin of a child who wanted a new toy. But a second later, her confusion—and growing suspicion—was gone, and she was smiling once again.

“Great! That’ll be two hundred and fifty gold, please.”

Gaster grunted and began counting out the coins. Sans suspected that some of the coins had to be worth more than others, since there definitely weren’t that many single coins there—he would have to find a way to examine this “money” at some point.

But before he could consider ways to sneak coins out of the pouch later on, Papyrus stepped in front of him and waved to get Bonnie’s attention. She turned to face him, her eyes soft and affectionate.

“Yes, hon?”

Papyrus fidgeted, but there was a good deal more hope than anxiety on his face than there had been a few days before at the castle. “CAN I HAVE A HUG, PLEASE?”

Bonnie blinked. Then she broke out into the widest grin Sans had ever seen on anyone but his brother.

“Well, aren’t you a regular cinnamon bunny?” she cooed. She walked around the counter, arms already held out at her sides. “Sure you can have a hug. C’mere.”

Papyrus beamed and threw himself forward, so hard that it probably would have knocked Sans over if he had been the recipient. But as Sans had learned very quickly, most monsters were a good deal heavier than skeletons, and his brother hit Bonnie no harder than a pillow. He squeezed her as tight as he could, somehow managing to keep the lollipop still in his hand from getting stuck in her fur. Bonnie wrapped her arms around him, holding him firmly yet gently. A lot like Asgore.

Something deep inside Sans twinged. Aching.

Longing.

He pushed it aside as Papyrus stepped back, smiling so wide it must have hurt his face, though all Sans could see in his eyes was glee, no less strong than when Asgore had embraced him mere days before.

“THANK YOU!”

Bonnie just laughed.

They headed out the door a minute later with a bag full of clothes and toys, Papyrus’s frustration toward Sans forgotten as he skipped and twirled and chattered about how fun the toys looked and all the things he could think of to do with them. Sans walked at his side, his smirk traded for a smile, his SOUL lighter than it had been in a long time.

Gaster walked several feet ahead of them, bag on his arm, facing forward, his steps measured and long, as if in a silent goal to get back to the house and away from the bustling town of people as fast as he could.

Even when He had been lying on the floor of the lab, unconscious, injured, and close to death, Sans didn’t think He had ever looked quite so exposed.


	5. 4: Broken Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those who follow both my stories, you may notice that this chapter is extremely similar to one posted in _Butterscotch and Bones_ last week. That ... is actually a total coincidence. I wrote that chapter quite a while ago and only recently realized that not only do they parallel each other, but I was posting them less than a week apart. That happened. XD
> 
> In other news, you guys continue to be awesome. But who's really surprised by that fact?
> 
> I also realized I haven't been posting trigger warnings for this story. So this chapter contains references to torture (drills, specifically) and partial panic attacks. And I said this in _Butterscotch and Bones_ , but if you have any triggers, I don't care what they are, _please_ tell me and I will post warnings.

“I’M SCARED.”

Two watched Him pause, watched Him look away, watched the shudder that ran through His body. Watched the final moment of hesitation, and hoped, just like he always hoped, even though it always turned out the same. Maybe this time. Maybe this time it would be different.

He couldn’t be all bad. He wouldn’t do it again.

But Two couldn’t move and the straps were so tight and he could barely breathe and—

“Good.”

Papyrus jerked his gaze to face Him, just as He lifted the drill, just as the sound of high-pitched whirring filled the room.

“You should be scared of me.”

And Papyrus screamed.

His arms thrashed, his legs kicked, his voice echoed back into his own ears, far duller than it should have been. Then he felt his sockets squeezed shut, though he was sure they were open, he was watching Him and he saw the drill and he could feel the screws being forced down into his hand and—

He opened his eyes.

There was the ceiling.

The ceiling of his room. _Their_ room. His and his brother’s, their _new_ room.

And there was his brother, just above him, hands on his shoulders and sockets wide as he murmured comforting words Papyrus couldn’t understand.

Papyrus sucked in a breath so deep he didn’t know how it fit inside his ribs.

Then he threw himself forward and squeezed his brother tight.

He didn’t know whose tears he felt dripping onto his arms, or whose sobs rang in his ears. It didn’t matter. Their arms wrapped around each other, the glow of both their eyes lighting up the room, and they cried. Cried for fears that no longer meant anything. Cried for something that was over now, done, it wouldn’t happen again, He wasn’t going to hurt them anymore, He had taken them home and given them clothes and food and let them go outside and everything was going to be okay now, everything was fine, everything was going to be—

Papyrus’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps, the same footsteps from the cell, the same ones that had tapped along the floor before He came to get them, the footsteps that told him he was about to be taken and hurt hurt pain pain _pain_ —

The door swung open, and there He was, browbone lowered, sockets hard and narrow, mouth curved into a scowl.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, why for god’s sake are you making this much noise this—”

Papyrus froze.

Bones appeared in front of him, blue, white, interlacing in the most complex pattern he could think of. They formed a cage around them, a barrier, trapping them in the corner, alone, together. Away from Him.

Gaster’s mouth was still open, and there it hung as he stared. The creases of anger on his face began to smooth out. His browbone rose. His hand, gripping the doorway hard enough to break it, fell to his side.

Papyrus held his brother tighter, and kept the bones in place.

No. They were fine. They were okay. It was over. Everything was going to be okay.

Everything _had_ to be okay.

He stared at them, and they stared back. They waited for him to speak. Waited for him to come in, to grab one of them, to threaten them or take one of them away or do something, _anything,_ to break the tension so thick Papyrus could have choked on it.

But he didn’t.

After more than a minute of nothing, He took a step back, paused, then pulled the door shut, so quietly that the hinges barely creaked.

A second after that, and His footsteps echoed down the hall until they disappeared altogether.

Papyrus felt a trembling breath slip through his teeth.

“YOU SEE, BROTHER?” he said, and his voice shouldn’t have been shaking that hard, but he couldn’t make it stop. Without the light of the hall, his eyes illuminated the whole room, and even though he didn’t think he could hold his brother any tighter, he still did it. "IT’S OKAY NOW. HE ISN’T GOING TO HURT US ANYMORE. HE ISN’T. HE … HE DIDN’T EVEN SEPARATE US. IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY. IT’S OKAY. IT’S OKAY.”

He felt a small, gentle hand stroke along his spine, then reach up to caress his skull.

“yeah, bro,” his brother—Sans, that was his brother, that was his name, _Sans_ —murmured. “it’s okay.”

Papyrus nodded, again and again, his chin brushing against the bone of his brother’s head.

“IT’S OKAY. IT’S OKAY. EVERYTHING’S OKAY.”

He kept saying it until the words lost meaning, until they ingrained themselves into his mind, until the soothing feeling of his brother’s fingers made his voice fade into silence. Until they were both just sitting there in the middle of the room, their eyes lighting up their faces even as the rest of the room remained bathed in darkness.

Just the two of them.

Safe. Happy. _Here._

At some point, they laid back down on the pillow, Papyrus’s head near the top, Sans’s almost sliding off the bottom. They adjusted their arms around one another, but didn’t bother to pull up the blankets. Papyrus focused on the warmth of his brother’s body, the glow of his eye, the thrum of his SOUL, the softness of the oversized shirts Gaster had given them to use as what he called “pajamas.” The room was warm, while the glass on the window was colder than anything Papyrus had felt in his life.

This was real. They were here. It was _real._

Sans’s fingers reached up to his skull and continued stroking along the side of it, and after a few seconds, Papyrus returned the gesture, the simple motion both of them had used when the other was panicking or couldn’t get to sleep. It made Papyrus’s eyes close almost immediately, but he didn’t stop the movement of his fingers, only snuggling closer to his brother and settling deeper into the cushy mattress that felt so much better than the bench ever had.

He didn’t know when his eyes stopped glowing, or his fingers slowed, or his mind began to drift. He didn’t fight it. He was safe. They were safe. They were both safe now, and that was how it was going to stay.

No more fear. No more pain.

Everything was going to be okay.

Papyrus squeezed his brother tight and let himself fall down into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	6. 5: Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [that comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/158172695533/previous-thats-not-a-good-thing-index) last night... 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all your fantastically kind feedback. You guys are great.

Gaster had apologized at least five times for asking on such short notice, for not finding somebody with fewer responsibilities, someone whose social status was a bit more suited for such a “task,” as he called it.

But Asgore was beaming from the moment the three of them walked into the throne room, and the second Gaster stopped talking long enough for him to get a word in, he was quick to assure him that looking after the boys for a few hours would be no problem at all.

Once Gaster mentioned he would be going to work in the lab, Asgore knew “a few hours” meant closer to “the entire day.” But that made no difference to him.

It had been so long since he had seen Gaster around skeleton children. Of course, it had been a long time since he had seen skeleton children at all. Not since—well. It had been a very long time.

And yes, he wished Gaster would stay so he could see them all together. So he could sneak out the camera and take photos for Gaster to put up on his wall or in an album or even in the back of a drawer, as long as he looked at them from time to time.

But Gaster had always put so much value in his work, and Asgore supposed it would take time for that value to shift to the boys, too.

In the meantime, Asgore would just have to show them exactly how valued they were.

Starting with cookies and toys and as many fun activities as he could possibly provide.

It seemed that every basic childhood experience had been denied to these boys. Rolling out cookie dough into shapes and eating the leftovers. Decorating cookies. Doing jigsaw puzzles. Coloring. Hide and seek. Hopscotch.

And most recently, tag.

The boys had seemed a little baffled at the idea that there was a real game based on chasing one another around, but once Asgore gave his permission, they picked it up like naturals, and the sound of their laughter echoing off the expansive halls was the most beautiful sound Asgore had heard in years.

It made him smile, soft and nostalgic and sad and immensely happy.

It made him wonder whether the boys had much chance to laugh when they weren’t here.

But he tried not to focus on that, instead allowing himself a smile as he followed the boys around the castle, watching them run up and down the halls, laughing, Papyrus moving just slowly enough for his brother not to fall completely behind.

His smile only fell when Papyrus ran past him on the stairs, swinging around the corners and coming very, very close to tripping over his oversized boots.

He stiffened, and put a hand out even though he was much too far away to do anything.

“Oh, Papyrus, please go slower when you’re running down the stairs,” he called, gently, but with more than a little concern.

Papyrus stumbled to a stop and turned to face him, head tilted in confusion and a bit of shame. Asgore deflated, then opened his mouth, ready to tell him that it wasn’t a big deal and there was nothing for him to feel bad about.

“or what?”

Asgore paused. He looked over his shoulder and found Sans, standing still, staring at him from a few steps above.

“I’m sorry?”

“whatll happen if he runs down the stairs?” Sans asked, his voice low and tense with something Asgore couldn’t properly name as anger or fear.

Asgore blinked. He blinked again. His mind restarted like a rusty engine.

“He might fall and get hurt,” he replied, very slowly, unsure whether he was even answering the right question.

Sans stared a moment longer, blank, unsure. Then Papyrus told him to hurry up and chase him again, and Sans slipped around Asgore to resume playing with his brother.

For the rest of their game, Papyrus slowed down every time they came to a set of stairs.

Sans ran faster.

So Asgore just stayed close, ready to catch them if they fell, just as he had for Chara when they were less keen to follow his safety warnings. But Sans never fell, and after ten minutes, he had completely tired himself out, and while his brother went on to play with some toys in one of the larger, empty rooms, he and Asgore sat at a small table near the edge of it.

He knew that they had some toys at home—Papyrus told him about every single one, and even if he didn’t have it in his hands, he always kept the color cube he so proudly told him was from Gaster close by. But there were dozens they hadn’t even heard of, and it seemed Papyrus’s enthusiasm knew no limits when it came to discovering new and fun items.

After five minutes, Sans had rested a bit, settling further into his chair, and Papyrus had tried out a toy train and a bouncing ball, and was currently rolling around on a skateboard on his stomach.

Asgore couldn’t remember the last time he had felt quite so content.

“So, Sans …” he started. Sans looked up, tensing as soon as he met Asgore’s gaze. Asgore gave him a soft smile in his best attempt at reassurance. “I noticed when we were making cookies earlier that you tripled the recipe.”

Sans stiffened further, and his browbone lowered. “that’s what you told us to do.”

Asgore blinked, then shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m not angry. I just noticed that you did it perfectly.”

He had had to read the recipe out to them—apparently another thing they had been deprived of was a chance to learn to read—but he had read out the regular amounts, including some relatively complicated fractions, and without even pausing to think, Sans had measured the tripled amount, ready for his brother to pour and mix and stir to his heart’s content.

Sans gave him another odd look, then turned his attention to Papyrus and shrugged.

“just got three times what you said,” he muttered. “it wasnt hard.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with the compliment, and Asgore’s smile turned a little pained.

“Have you ever studied math?”

Sans glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “no.”

“You’ve never learned multiplication?”

“what’s that?”

Asgore raised an eyebrow, but Sans was still looking at his brother.

Well. Maybe once they’d been here for a while longer, he could dig out some of the old textbooks Toriel had used to homeschool the children.

He wouldn’t push it, of course. But if Sans wanted the information, he should be welcome to it.

“You really are a very intelligent young skeleton, Sans,” he said, and Sans looked a little further away, his tiny body fidgeting with something he couldn’t seem to define as positive or negative. Asgore’s gaze softened. “I know your father must be very proud.”

Sans couldn’t have jolted harder if someone had sent a current of electricity up his spine.

He jerked his head to face Asgore, his eyelights almost gone, his sockets wide.

“my WHAT?”

Asgore blinked, having pulled back a little at the sudden outburst from the normally soft-spoken child.

“Your … Gaster. Your father,” he repeated, though with far more hesitation. Sans kept staring, a slight furrow to his browbone. Asgore felt something in his stomach sink in shame. He really needed to learn not to make assumptions. “He … has he not asked you to call him that? I’m sorry, that must have been a shock. I was under the impression you’d been with him for a while now.”

He tried to smile, but it came out small and awkward. Sans’s eyes remained locked on him for a few more seconds, his expression as unreadable as Gaster’s on a bad day, before at last, he looked away, eying the floor instead.

“yeah,” he murmured.

Asgore’s smile fell. He looked away, toward where Papyrus had discovered the little scooter Asriel had so enjoyed all those years ago. He took only a moment to figure out how to work it, riding across the room with the biggest smile Asgore had seen on his face since he asked for that hug.

Since he _asked_ for that hug. As if he might not receive it. As if it were the most precious gift in the world.

Asgore sighed.

“I know he isn’t always the most affectionate of monsters. Gaster has … been through a lot over the years,” he went on, glancing at Sans but keeping his attention on Papyrus, if only to give him the cheer and energy to continue. “But I know he must be very happy to have both of you with him. You’re good for him. And he doesn’t let people in easily. Even the little he shows now … you must mean a great deal to him.”

He turned and smiled, and he had hoped, really hoped, that he might get a smile in return. A real one, not the one Sans gave because his face refused to do anything else.

But Asgore had no words for the expression Sans wore now, eyesockets narrowed, smile thin, tense and contemplative and confused and almost _angry._ As if Asgore had physically struck him and he was trying to figure out how to respond.

Asgore barely noticed that Papyrus had put away the scooter and wandered back over until he stood at the side of the table, watching his brother with the same soft look of concern Asgore expected from such a gentle SOUL. Sans, for once, didn’t even look at him.

“what does that word mean?” he asked, avoiding Asgore’s gaze, his tone unreadable. “father?”

“Oh.” Asgore blinked. Papyrus turned to him now, with the same eager curiosity he had shown from the very beginning. Asgore pursed his lips and paused, trying to think of an answer worthy of two boys to whom the answer should have been obvious long ago. “Well … a father is a man who takes care of you. Who makes sure you are safe, that you have good food to eat and a nice place to rest, who plays with you and talks with you. Who guides you when you need help and comforts you when you’re upset.”

Sans said nothing, staring at the ground with his browbone low. Papyrus tilted his head.

“SO … ARE YOU OUR FATHER, THEN?”

Asgore jerked back in his chair.

“Me?” he managed. Papyrus continued to stare up at him, completely oblivious as to the weight of the question. Something deep in Asgore ached, like he had been stabbed, but he brought himself to laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, goodness. That’s very kind of you, Papyrus, but no. I’m just your … Uncle Asgore, shall we say. I’ve been friends with your—with Gaster for a very long time.”

“and he never told you about us?” Sans asked.

Asgore’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“he never told you about us before we met you?”

There was something behind that question, Asgore was sure. There was something behind just about everything Sans said, even if he hadn’t yet figured out what that something was. He hesitated.

“Well, no. I was … he said that he found you a couple of weeks before we met, is that right? I think he was just nervous about introducing us. He can get so shy sometimes.”

He meant it as a joke, with a slight smile to show it, but rather than ask about other embarrassing tidbits about Gaster’s personality—which Asgore would have been happy to share—Sans just continued to watch him. Even Papyrus remained silent, his gaze innocent and curious in contrast to his brother’s hard stare.

“I’m sure it’s nothing against you, if that’s what you were thinking,” Asgore added. “Don’t take his shyness personally, sometimes he just likes to keep things to himself for a while. Especially important things.”

Sans made a sound that almost resembled a laugh. He looked away completely, hiding his expression as hard as Asgore tried to see it.

“yeah,” he muttered. “sure.”

Asgore opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong, maybe place a hand on his shoulder, but before he could speak, Papyrus slipped in front of his brother, his eyes bright.

“UNCLE ASGORE, CAN YOU SHOW US THE GARDEN AGAIN? AND TELL US ABOUT THE FLOWERS? THEY’RE VERY PRETTY, I LIKE THEM A LOT!”

Asgore closed his mouth. He looked at Sans, and came very, very close to trying to figure out what was hidden behind everything he hadn’t said, what in the world Gaster had yet to tell him, if even he knew. But Sans was looking at his brother now, his expression soft, as it always was toward Papyrus, and Asgore found himself nodding before he could properly think.

“Of course, Papyrus, I’d be happy to,” he replied. “Sans, would you like to come with us?”

Sans met his eyes, and for a second, just a second, Asgore saw a glimpse of the emotions swirling in those empty sockets. Anger, frustration, confusion, hurt, sadness, feelings of such complexity and depth that it would have broken his heart to see them in an adult, much less a child.

Then they were gone, the lights in his eyes returning as he gave a small, casual shrug.

Asgore thought about pushing it. He thought about asking and not giving up until he got an answer, _something_ that would help him understand these boys just a little better.

But he didn’t.

He stood from his chair and started toward the garden, and both of them followed just behind him, one beaming with a grin of never-ending joy, and the other with haunted eyes he hoped to never see on a child’s face again.


	7. 6: Repairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of ways to say you guys are awesome. So just know that that is the message and I will be back with a more creative wording of it next time! XD

Gaster had taken them to stay with Asgore for the last five days.

Sans wasn’t complaining, of course, and he knew his brother enjoyed visits to the king more than almost anything else, if only because it meant being around somebody who actually seemed to enjoy their company. On top of that, they got good food—including lots of sweets—and far more toys than they had ever had at Gaster’s house, and they could run around and make noise and Asgore would just smile and laugh, as long they weren’t hurting themselves.

But it was strange. And not the kind of strange that Sans was willing to write off, even though it benefitted him.

He had always noticed things. Little things. It was all he had had back in the lab, his _observations,_ and it was the only tool he had ever been able to use against him to any effect.

He noticed the slight changes in His expressions, the shifts in His behavior patterns that indicated something was off. Pointed out weaknesses he might be able to exploit, even if he could count the number of times he had ever been able to do so, to any degree of momentary success, on one hand.

And once they were out, once they were _here,_ Sans readjusted his expectations. He knew when He ate and slept and how He moved and what His face looked like in different situations and how He acted around every single person they met. And over the past five days, Sans had watched Him skip His breakfast before dropping them off, seen the dirty dishes pile up in the sink, taken in every minuscule piece of evidence that all led him to the same conclusion.

There was something wrong with Him.

Sans had thought he would be happy about this. Hadn’t that been what he spent so much time fantasizing about back in the cell? How many different ways He could be hurt, how many methods Sans could use, if he only had the power, to make sure He could never hurt either of them again?

The idea of seeing Gaster in pain was as nice as it had always been.

But the more Sans thought about it, the less nice it seemed.

In the lab, Gaster in pain, Gaster _weakened,_ meant a chance at escape. It meant that maybe He wouldn’t stay at the lab as long that day. It meant He wouldn’t have the energy for some of the worst experiments.

It meant a chance for Sans to grab His hand and yank Him into the bars of the forcefield.

But now?

Everything was different now. The rules of this world were different. If something was wrong with Gaster now, would he take it out on them? _Could_ he take it out on them? Would these people stop him?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know anything.

And Sans wasn’t going to stand for being helpless once again.

Gaster had never ordered them to stay in their room, but they did anyway, maybe out of habit, maybe to keep their distance. And most of the time, Sans was happy to stay with his brother, playing with the toys he had “convinced” Gaster to buy and those Asgore had given them.

But today, for the first time, he managed to slip away from his brother in the early evening, just after Gaster had picked them up from the castle and returned them to the house in Snowdin. Papyrus remained in their room, while Sans stood in the entrance to the kitchen, watching Gaster take a savory wrap-thin—he had forgotten the name—and stick it into the microwave to cook.

Gaster knew he was there. He _must_ have known. But he didn’t acknowledge him, and after two minutes of only the microwave’s hum, Sans finally spoke up.

“youve been busy lately.”

He got no verbal response, but Sans had been watching the minute details of His behavior long enough to see the light tensing of His shoulders. His smile twisted into a smirk, and he leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

“first couple weeks, you hardly left the house at all,” he went on. “now youre droppin us off with the king every day. why’s that?”

Gaster said nothing. The microwave beeped and he opened it to take out whatever they were having for dinner and put it on a plate, before sticking in another and starting the machine up again. Sans raised his browbone, even though he knew He wouldn’t see.

“of course, not like youd ever tell me about it. when have you ever told us anything? you probly want to even less now, since we’re not locked up all the time. i bet—”

“I’m reviewing a failed experiment.”

His voice came so suddenly that, for a moment, Sans found himself struck silent. Then His words clicked, and his whole body stiffened on reflex. Gaster didn’t move, or even turn. Sans forced himself to relax, if only a little.

“let me guess. us?” he asked, trying to cover up his anxiety with sarcasm. Gaster didn’t reply. “that’s all youre gonna give me? figures.”

And Sans figured that was where it would end. He was used to his questions being shot down, conversations ended simply because Gaster refused to continue his side of them. But just as he was about to turn around and leave, maybe go play with his brother before dinner, Gaster shifted. He turned a bit toward Sans, not quite looking at him, but instead staring at one of the cabinets just above the height of his eyes as the microwave buzzed beside him.

“Sub—your … brother has told you that breaking your right eye was not an intended outcome.”

Sans’s browbone furrowed again, and he was suddenly painfully aware of the missing half of his vision.

“he mentioned it,” he muttered, resisting the urge to reach up and touch his right socket. “and so did you. you said it was ‘inconvenient,’ if i remember right. about a minute before you blew a giant hole in my skull.”

“Another unintended outcome,” Gaster replied in a perfect mimic of the clinical tone he had used every day in the lab, one that Sans had now learned was not his only way of speaking. But there was something else behind it, something Sans didn’t recognize.

His smile felt more like a scowl.

“are you trying to convince me to forgive you or something? cause that’s not happenin. EVER.”

The microwave beeped, and Gaster opened it to take out the other wrap-thin and put it on a plate. “I’m aware.”

Sans crossed his arms. “then what are you doin?”

Another pause, longer than the first one. But this time, Sans waited. He watched. Gaster stared at the microwave, not even putting anything in this time. It felt like several minutes later that he let out a breath that might have counted as a sigh.

“The second experiment very likely would have been a success if not for the power surge. Power surges can be easily prevented, if you’re prepared.”

“what are you gettin at?” Sans asked, without any room for dismissal, even though he knew He could dismiss him anytime He wanted.

Gaster looked at him. Just for a second, but a second of looking at the empty, yet somehow mixed expression on his face was all it took to throw Sans for a loop.

“I’ve been recalibrating the equipment I used and protecting against any possible surges,” he said, looking back to the counter and shifting the plates around as if he actually had something to do. “All evidence points to a second attempt being a success.”

Sans just stared.

“you … what?”

“I should be able to rekindle the magic in your right eye,” Gaster repeated, something between frustration and defeat in his voice. “’Fix you,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Sans kept staring. Then his browbone lowered, his hands curling as he took a step back in subconscious defense.

“so that’s it, huh?” he muttered, voice low, anger covering up his fear. “you spend all this time makin us believe it’s over, that youre done doin stuff to us, and now youre gonna go right back to strappin us down and shootin lasers in our eyesockets!”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A cold dismissal, perhaps, or a metaphorical rolling of the eyes. He didn’t expect Gaster’s hands to tighten around the edges of the counter, like in those rare moments in the lab when Sans managed to push his patience right to the edge.

“If you don’t want to go through with it, you won’t be forced.”

There were no fancy, big words. There was no attempt to overcomplicate His reply. Yet Sans found himself all but gawking as his mind struggled to understand. “what?”

“It’s your choice,” Gaster said. He moved to the sink, where he had left some dirty dishes in a sink full of water, and began scrubbing them with an old brush. “You can continue to live with one good eye or you can agree to my attempt to fix it.”

“and you really think im gonna let you anywhere near my eyes if i have a CHOICE?” Sans asked, more bite to his tone than he had thought he was capable of.

“Unlikely,” Gaster murmured, more to himself than to Sans. “But you’re clever enough to realize that now that people are aware of your existence, I would not be able to explain it away if you were injured during the procedure.”

Sans tried to respond with any number of sarcastic jibes he had mastered throughout his life, but his voice died before he could get out a single word. His breath trembled as he let it out, and he found his gaze drifting to the floor.

Seeing again … _glowing_ again … with _both_ eyes …

Did he even remember what that felt like?

Did he even remember what it was like not to depend on his brother to glow for him whenever he was upset? To actually be able to soothe himself at will?

It had been a long time. Or, at least, his version of a long time. From what he had gathered, he and his brother weren’t actually very old compared to other monsters of their size. It felt like a world away, yet at the same time, he hadn’t forgotten it. The simple comfort of glowing his eyes when he was anxious or afraid, of glowing for his _brother_ rather than his brother glowing enough for both of them.

The comfort that had died as he was strapped into a chair, as the laser hit his eye, as his vision went black and half of it never returned.

The comfort that had died because _He_ wanted to know what would happen.

“im not lettin you anywhere near me,” he said at last, determined, absolute, even as he felt the slim opportunity slip through his fingers like so many in the past. “or my brother. so you can stop doin all this.”

Gaster said nothing at first. He finished the last dish and put it to the side to dry, but he didn’t leave the sink.

“As I said,” he replied, voice unreadable. “It’s your choice.”

“hmph.”

Sans gave Gaster one more brief look,as if that might help him understand what he was up to any more than it already had. It didn’t. He huffed a sigh, shook his head, and turned to walk back to his room and rejoin his brother.

“Why haven’t you tried to run?”

He stopped mid-step, looking over his shoulder. “what?”

Gaster was facing him now, and that threw Sans more than he would have liked to admit. There was nothing on His face to give away how He was feeling—whatever “feeling” was to a person like him. It had been a long time since Sans had found himself unable to glare back at His hard, blank expression. But now, all he could do was stare.

“I can’t lock your door. And I know you know how to unlock the front door, I saw you checking it when we first arrived,” Gaster went on, nothing save for a touch of curiosity in his tone. “So why have you stayed? I sincerely doubt you want to be here.”

Sans remained frozen a second longer. Then he snapped out of his reverie and lowered his brow. In the back of his head, he could hear the snap of a detached bone and his brother’s pained cries.

“you told us youd always find us. no matter how far we went.”

“That’s never stopped you from trying before,” Gaster said. “And what if I told you I wouldn’t try to find you, if you ran?”

“then id say you were lyin,” Sans replied, without even having to think about it.

Gaster didn’t say anything for a minute, but to Sans’s disappointment, he didn’t look away. While before Sans would have preferred to see the minute changes in His expression, now all he wanted was to get as far away from Him as possible.

He tried to tell himself that he was in a kitchen, in the outside world. People knew who he was, where he was. They weren’t down _there_. They would never be down there again.

It didn’t work.

After a minute of silence, Gaster looked back to the counter, and Sans felt his entire body sink a little closer to the ground.

“You two are so different. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, given you were made from the same source material,” Gaster said, and this time, Sans couldn’t be sure whether or not he was talking to himself. “How is it that nothing I do can break his trust, and nothing I could ever do would gain yours?”

There was no regret there. No longing. At least, if there was, Sans couldn’t hear it.

Gaster was many, many things, including occasionally lacking in common sense, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he had made his own choices. He had known _exactly_ what he was doing, every time he had done it. If he had wanted their trust, if he had wanted anything from them other than fearful obedience, he would have done something to deserve it.

Sans held himself taller again, his browbone as low as he could get it, his eyelights burning with everything he had ever said in the worst moments down there—and everything he had ever held back.

“i wanted to trust you,” he bit out. “i didnt, but i WANTED to. my brother kept saying you were good, maybe you left us alone all the time and you snapped at us and you were pretty, well, horrible, but you werent THAT bad. and i wanted to trust you. because HE always did.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, so tight he could feel the tug of the metal plate against this bones.

“then you betrayed him.”

Gaster looked at him with something between boredom and curiosity. “I fail to see how I could betray someone whose trust I never meant to earn in the first place.”

The tips of Sans’s fingers dug into his bone, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

“you knew he wouldnt fight you. you knew he wouldnt hurt you. and you hurt him anyway.” His eyelights narrowed to pinpricks, condensing every ounce of the fury that had consumed him so many times into a single look. “that’s betrayal.”

Gaster said nothing. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t look away. But Sans didn’t falter. For the first time, even though he still had to look up, he didn’t feel quite so small.

“now ive got a question for you,” he went on. “what the hell are you even DOING?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Gaster replied, even though he knew, Sans was _sure_ he knew.

A moment later, when Gaster looked away yet again, that was confirmed.

“you dont care about us. youve NEVER cared about us. you made that pretty clear right from the beginning. we BEGGED you stop, you KNEW how much you were hurtin us, and YOU. DIDNT. CARE.”

With every word, he could hear the screeching of the drill failing to drown out his own screams. He could hear his brother’s desperate cries as the one he was so desperate to trust failed him again and again. He could feel the sting of the pick, the pressure of the hammer, the pain that went deeper than his SOUL every time his brother’s smile fell.

“even if you stopped hurtin us, you dont CARE about us,” he finished. “so why are you doin all this? why would you spend time tryin to fix me when you arent gonna use me for some experiment?”

Gaster kept looking at the wall. Sans felt his hands begin to relax as his burst of energy faded.

“do you even have a reason?”

“I have reasons for everything I do,” Gaster said, and Sans could pinpoint every time he had said the exact same thing.

He huffed something that sounded like a laugh.

“is that what you told yourself? every time you hurt us?” he asked. “cause to me, it looks more like you have no idea what youre doin. i dont think you ever did.”

He waited for the retort. For the counterargument, for the roll of the eyes or the dismissal or _anything_ close to what he had come to expect.

Nothing came.

Sans forced himself up a little straighter, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“youre not gettin anywhere near my eye. ever.”

Silence.

Gaster picked up the plate sitting under the microwave and held it out toward him in one hand.

“Your dinner’s ready,” he said, in the same voice that had carved itself into the darkest parts of Sans’s mind. “You can take it your room if you want to eat there.”

Sans glared at him, as hard as he could, but got no response. Not even an irritated sigh. At last, he stepped forward, snatched the plate in both his hands, and walked away. He felt Gaster’s eyes on his back until he left the room.

The next day, Gaster dropped them off at the castle and went off to the lab without sparing Sans a single look.


	8. 0: Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've breached the two hundred mark!! ... and I'm still blanking on more ways to say you're incredible. I need to get a thesaurus.

One waited for things to go back to normal. He waited for Him to start coming back, to take them out for experiments or tests or whatever the hell He felt like doing every morning. He waited for everything to continue just as it always had.

But it didn’t.

He came back, more regularly than before. But He didn’t take them out of the cell.

Each cycle, the lights came on. He came in to give them their first meal, and He left. A while later, another meal, and a while later, another. Then the lights turned off, and they were alone once more.

Again and again. Over and over, until One began to wonder, however briefly, if this was really going to be their life.

It was boring. It would probably get overwhelmingly boring with time.

Boredom was better than torture.

But One couldn’t even bring himself to feel relieved.

While his brother commented at least once per cycle that He had changed, that He had decided not to hurt them anymore, that everything was going to be okay from now on, all One could do was watch the beams and wait for the moment when this uncomfortable peace would end.

Because it had to end.

He had hoped, he had begged, he had wished, and nothing had ever changed before.

After all that had happened, nothing would change now.

Five cycles after what One had dubbed The Incident, He brought something else along with their first meal.

One couldn’t tell what it was, and he stayed back, staring at it, while his brother scampered forward. He ignored the food and went straight for the new thing.

Or new _things,_ as One realized as soon as his brother picked one up.

They were like their gowns, only they _weren’t_ gowns. They were clothes, yes, but they were the sort of clothes that He wore. There were two sets of what One vaguely remembered were called pants, both of them a very dark gray, and a black sweater, and a white shirt, and something blue and thick with white fluff around one part, and something long and red that One couldn’t name.

He pushed himself to his feet as his brother held up the sweater, tilting his head with a furrowed brow.

“DO YOU THINK WE’RE SUPPOSED TO PUT THEM ON?”

“dunno,” One murmured as he came to stand in front of the pile, watching it like it might jump up and eat him. “he doesnt give us stuff unless he wants us to do somethin with it.”

“THESE ARE STRANGE,” his brother said, moving the sweater around in his hands, sideways, upside down, and right-side up once again. “HOW DO YOU THINK WE WEAR THEM?”

One hesitated, then picked up a pair of pants, looked at his brother, and shrugged.

It took them six tries to get the clothes on, and in the end One had to rely on his memory of the clothes He wore in order to figure out what was supposed to go where. But after many failed attempts, One found himself dressed in one of the pairs of pants and a white shirt, both of which barely stayed on his body, and the blue, fluffy thing, which looked a little like the white coat He wore every day.

The clothes fit his brother a lot better, though they were still too big. He picked the dark sweater and pants, and after trying the long red thing around his waist, on his arm, and on top of his head, he finally tried wrapping it very loosely around his neck, and decided that was where it looked best.

One was glad he wore the long thing, too. With just the sweater and pants, his brother looked far too much like Him.

They didn’t know what to do with their gowns, so they just tossed them in the corner. Their new clothes were nicer, in feel as much as in looks. They spent the next few hours until their second meal running their hands over the fabric, first of their own clothes, then of each others. One quickly discovered how strange it was, yet nice, to rest his head under his brother’s chin and feel softness against his cheekbone rather than simply bone.

When He returned with their second meal, One’s brother tried to thank Him, but He was gone before he could even open his mouth.

Their third meal was delivered the same way, and a short while later, the lights went out.

And for three more cycles after that, things remained the same.

It was on the eighth cycle since The Incident that He brought them their first meal, and rather than waiting for their second to collect the dish it had come on, He returned just after they finished eating.

He took the plate. He disappeared for a minute. Then He came back.

He put His hand on the scanner. The beams disappeared.

“Come,” He said, looking at the wall instead of at them, His voice even more blank than usual. The skeletons looked at one another, browbones furrowed, before He added, “Both of you.”

They had already been sitting close together on the bench, but at this, they grabbed each other’s hands and held tight. After a moment’s pause, they stood, because there was no use resisting, and neither of them wanted to risk another use of blue magic. They started toward the door, hands still clasped tight, but before they could reach it, He spoke again.

“If you want to keep the color cube, you’ll need to take it with you.”

They stopped. One’s brother looked behind him, at the familiar splash of color in the otherwise gray room. He tilted his head. “WON’T I SEE IT WHEN I COME BACK?”

“You’re not coming back,” He said, his eyes still on the opposite wall, lowered a bit toward the floor.

One felt his SOUL twist and his whole body tense. He couldn’t tell whether it was his hand or his brother’s that squeezed so hard it hurt.

His brother shifted back, just a bit, his browbone tilted up the most distress One had seen on his face in days. “WHAT?”

One’s mind raced fast enough to make him dizzy.

This was it. This was the end. He was really going to do it. He was going to kill them. Maybe He didn’t need them anymore, maybe He had found out all He had wanted to know and He didn’t want anyone to find out about them, maybe He didn’t want to deal with them, maybe He just _wanted_ to kill them, but either way they were going to die and there was nothing they could do nowhere they could run they were both going to—

Bringing a hand to His forehead, He let out a huff of a sigh.

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to die,” He snapped. He turned around, back toward the hallway, and took a few steps out. “Now come.”

One forced himself to breathe, loosening his grip on his brother’s hand. He wasn’t sure if he believed it. Maybe He was just saying that so they would obey. But his brother was already walking back into the room, snatching up the color cube with his free hand and cradling it against his torso, then starting forward, following Him into the hall. One couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than go with him.

The walk was silent. Even more silent than usual. No one spoke, not even his brother. They kept their hands clasped tight the whole way, turning corners One didn’t remember seeing in a long time. They weren’t going to any of the usual rooms. Those would have been the other way. No, they were going toward …

No. That couldn’t be it.

They stopped in one of the smaller rooms that One remembered as very near the edge of the lab. He was fairly sure it was called an office. They had only been there once, when He had told them to hide to prove that He could find them no matter where they went. One’s eyes drifted to the desk, to the computer, to the chairs, to everything he had never had the chance to explore and everything else he couldn’t even put a name to. But he knew very well that He hadn’t brought them there for a tour.

Even if he had no idea what He was going to do instead.

Without looking at them, He motioned for One’s brother to sit down, and after a second, the two released one another’s hands so he could comply. He sat on the chair, testing out the texture, as He picked up his right hand and began wrapping it up in what looked like bandages.

One looked at his brother. His brother looked back. Then he turned to him, fidgeting, though he didn’t pull his hand out of His grasp.

“UM … MY HAND ISN’T HURT … AT LEAST I DON’T THINK IT IS …”

No response. They waited, and a minute later, He tied the bandages off. The white cloth now completely covered the plate, leaving space for finger movement, the bandage tails dangling near his wrist.

“Don’t take those off,” He said. He made a shooing gesture toward One’s brother, then called One over to take his place. One took a few seconds longer to obey, but finally sat down and let Him take his right hand and wrap it up just like his brother’s.

When He finished, He stood, and One hopped off the seat and adjusted the oversized clothes that had become even more wrinkled from sitting down. Without a word, He reached over to the table and picked up something One hadn’t noticed until then.

Two sets of … something. One was taller and stiffer and red, and one was flat and pink.

They looked like … what were they called again? Shoes. That’s it, shoes. Not like He wore. But still shoes.

He put them on the ground and made a vague motion toward them, and after one exchanged glance, One and his brother stepped forward to examine them. One took the flat pair, slipping them on his feet and marveling at the strange new sensation, while his brother took the taller red ones. He took a minute to figure out whether the long fabric of his pants was supposed to go outside or inside the shoes—he decided inside.

One looked up again to find Him stacking up papers and generally straightening things up—this room was a lot messier than what One was used to, now that he had a chance to notice it.

“what are you doin?” One asked, smile tense, his twitching toes ready to move even though he had no idea how the flat shoes would affect his ability to run. Even though he knew running was useless.

He didn’t turn around. He paused, and One followed every slight motion of his body, every sign of every minute emotion he may or may not have even felt. One waited. His brother waited.

And at last, His voice broke the silence, more monotone, and more tired, than One had ever heard it.

“I’m taking you outside.”

For a second, the words didn’t register. They didn’t make sense, they weren’t real, they _couldn’t_ be real, he was just hearing things, after everything that had happened he was hallucinating because _he couldn’t have just heard that._

But when he looked to his brother, searching for some grounding to the real world, he found his face curling into a wide, eager grin.

“OUTSIDE?!” he squealed, like he hadn’t for so, so long. “REALLY? WE’RE REALLY GOING OUTSIDE?”

He got no reply. But being ignored didn’t deter One’s brother, and the fact that he hadn’t been contradicted only made his smile grow. He turned to One, his sockets shining, his bones rattling in his excitement.

“BROTHER, DID YOU HEAR HIM? WE’RE GOING OUTSIDE!”

“youre makin it up,” One said, staring at Him even as he ached to treasure that happy expression on his brother’s face, however brief as it would probably be.

Still, He wouldn’t meet their eyes, instead checking their shoes and their clothes and picking what One thought was called a bag or a pack or a case off the chair.

“When have I ever made things up?”

One was ready to spout out about a dozen different answers, before he paused.

As much as He had hurt them, as much as He had put them through hell, He had always been blunt. Either He told them the truth or He told them nothing.

And before One could think of all the other reasons they couldn’t trust what he was saying, He had started out of the room and gestured, rather impatiently, for them to follow. One’s brother looked to him, holding out his hand, and One could only take it and walk with him back into the hall.

The walk was brief, and One knew where they were going. There was nothing else left here. No more rooms. No more doors.

Just _that_ door.

The door he had never seen open, but knew all too well nonetheless.

They stopped just in front of it, and He held out His hand toward the keypad. One’s entire body froze. Closer. Closer and closer. Was this really happening? Were they really leaving? Were they really getting _out_? He felt his brother squeeze his hand tighter, and he squeezed in return, both of them trembling, their eyes flashing with color, in joy or comfort, he couldn’t tell.

So close. They were almost there.

Then He paused, mere inches away, and for a second, just a second, One thought it was over.

He had changed His mind. He had decided to lock them away again, whatever had made Him reconsider had lost its hold and now they were going back, they were going to be tortured every day of their lives until He finally got sick of them and—

Then He sighed, His hand still in the air.

“The world outside is very different from down here.”

One’s browbone furrowed. He looked at his brother, and his brother looked back, but neither of them spoke. They looked to Him again.

“ARE WE GOING TO MEET … MORE PEOPLE?”

“Yes, I assume you will, in time,” He replied, quiet, resigned, and far more tired than One ever remembered hearing Him. “But first, I’ll be taking you to my home. The terrain changes quickly, so stay close or you may get hurt.”

One curled his free hand into a fist, but said nothing, even as his brother stared at Him with rapt attention and more than slight wonder.

That hand still hovered in front of the keypad.

“Outside, you will not be known as 1-S and 2-P. You will be called …”

He paused. One waited, body tense, head perked up. At last, He let out a soft breath that almost counted as a sigh, and One swore he saw a faint shudder run up His spine.

“Sans and Papyrus.”

“PAPYRUS?” One’s brother repeated.

One tilted his head, brow still low. “sans?”

Nothing. The two looked at one another, and with every second that passed, One could see the joy grow in his brother’s eyes, so pure, so exuberant, that even One couldn’t help but relax just a bit.

“PAPYRUS? IS THAT MY NAME? THAT’S MY NAME, ISN’T IT?” he asked, turning toward Him even though both of them knew He wouldn’t respond. He didn’t stop grinning. “AND BROTHER, YOU’RE SANS!”

But One wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was looking at Him. Watching the way His shoulders stiffened, then sagged.

He placed His hand on the keypad.

The little lights turned on.

The door slid open.

He stepped out.

One looked at his brother. His brother looked at him, his eyes so bright, flickering orange and traces of green. He squeezed One’s hand, and One did his best to squeeze back, even through the trembling of his bones.

Then they took their first steps forward, into the world Outside.


	9. 7: Babysitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredible. Marvelous. Prodigious. Stunning. Unbelievable. (So I checked a thesaurus. ;) )
> 
> Another of my (many) favorite parts of Handplates is the relationship between Gaster and Alphys. Because on one hand, it’s _sick_ , how poor Alphys has _no idea_ of what Gaster is actually doing when she’s not around him. And on another hand, it actually reminds me of my relationships with some of my favorite, older professors in college (I was a lot like Alphys when I was younger—though I didn’t have crushes on any of my professors). She’s one of the few people, especially younger people, who he seems genuinely fond of.
> 
> This is my first time writing for Alphys, and let me say, as much as it was occasionally a challenge, it was _fun_.

Asgore had told her almost two weeks ago, apparently not long after he had found out himself. But Alphys couldn’t really believe it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had just kept on assuming that no one had seen Dr. Gaster because he was very, very busy.

He seemed to be very, very busy a lot nowadays. But that was the life of the Royal Scientist, she supposed.

She would have believed that without any trouble at all.

Believing that Dr. Gaster, who only talked to a select few people and kept to himself and was grumpy at least half the time and was generally the least likely person in the Underground to have kids, suddenly had _two sons,_ was a good deal more difficult.

But there they were. Standing in the living room, staring at her, one of them with gleeful interest, the other with a weird, silent suspicion. Sweat dripped down over her face and off her jaw as she tried to smile and only managed something like a grimace.

God, what had she gotten herself into.

“ _Dr. Alphys_?”

She barely caught her name in the movements of the hands, but the unintelligible voice made her jump as she turned to face Dr. Gaster in full.

He looked at her with something between bemusement and concern. She wrung her hands and twisted her mouth into a shaky grin.

“Oh, um … y-yes?”

He raised half his browbone, but made no comment about her more-nervous-than-usual behavior.

“ _I’m leaving now_ ,” he signed. “ _I’ll be back late. You have my number in case there are any problems_.”

She nodded, a little too fast to be considered normal.

“Right, o-of course. Thank you!”

He stared at her a moment longer, but she just kept smiling, as tight as it was, and finally, he nodded.

She hadn’t done much babysitting before—okay, she hadn’t done _any_ babysitting before—but she was familiar enough with the concept to expect him to give her some sort of list, what to feed the boys, what entertainment they liked, what time they usually went to bed, things to do and not to do.

But Dr. Gaster said nothing else. He just picked up his bag and walked out the door.

Alphys stood there, blankly staring, for a good minute before she finally shook herself out of her reverie.

She didn’t know why he had picked her. Surely there were plenty of other monsters who could have watched two little skeletons for a few hours while he went to the lab. She had no experience, she had no skills, she hardly knew anything about kids or skeletons or skeleton kids or anything other than the little tidbits she had learned from Dr. Gaster over their time as co-workers. She was going to ruin this, she was going to be the worst babysitter in monster history, the kids would get hurt, maybe they would die, and she wouldn’t know what to do, she had no idea what to—

She heaved a sigh and turned around.

And jolted hard.

Two sets of eyesockets watched her from only a few feet away.

“H-hi …” she squeaked out, forcing herself to smile again and lift her hand in a tiny wave, before rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry, I t-thought you guys went to your room …”

Neither of them spoke. Papyrus’s sockets were wide and friendly, while Sans eyed her with the same cautious interest that hadn’t left his face since she walked in the door.

She cleared her throat and twiddled her fingers in front of her.

“So, um … what would you like to do?”

Papyrus straightened, the beginnings of an eager grin curling up his mouth.

“DO YOU WANT TO SEE OUR TOYS?”

Alphys blinked, then smiled back, less shakily than before. “O-okay!”

Papyrus beamed, giggling a bit before running down the hall and into what she guessed was their bedroom. He came out less than ten seconds later with his arms full of several different toys, which he laid out carefully on the couch.

He showed her the first—a very large metal top with faded swirls painted on the sides.

“THIS IS THE SPINNY THING,” he said. “YOU PUT IT LIKE THIS AND YOU SPIN THE TOP AND IT KEEPS SPINNING!”

He put it on the hard floor and spun it in a quick demonstration, looking back and forth between her and the top. She did her best to act enthusiastic, and though she didn’t think she did a very good job, Papyrus seemed content.

He returned the top and moved on to the next toy.

“AND THIS IS MY BALL WIRE THING.” Alphys didn’t think that was the real name, but she didn’t have a better one, so that worked. He reached up and pushed one of the little wooden balls along the thick red wire that wound in swirls and attached to a wooden base. “YOU SEE, YOU MOVE THE LITTLE BALLS AROUND THE WIRE.”

Papyrus put it down on the floor and let her play with it, inviting his brother to join them, even though Sans seemed intent on standing nearby and watching in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Papyrus returned the “ball wire thing” to the couch and picked up the last item, square and rainbow, with such reverence that Alphys might have thought it was a key to the Surface.

“AND THIS IS MY COLOR CUBE.” He held it close to his chest and smiled down at it before looking up to her again. “IT WAS GASTER’S, BUT HE LET ME KEEP IT!”

He said it as if it were the most selfless, kind action he had ever witnessed, and Alphys wasn’t sure whether to feel moved or pained. Sans watched his brother with narrowed eyelights and a tight smile, and yet again, she found herself completely and utterly lost.

Luckily, Papyrus broke the silence by holding out the color cube for her to take, and she spent the next ten minutes learning three different ways to solve it.

Once she had seen all of Papyrus’s toys—maybe they were Sans’s, too, but Papyrus seemed far more attached to them—she found a two thousand piece jigsaw puzzle in one of Dr. Gaster’s “junk piles” and laid it out for the boys to solve. Sans didn’t seem terribly interested, but he didn’t complain, and Papyrus looked ready to burst with glee.

Alphys helped at first, but found that the boys were putting pieces in faster than she could find them, and besides, she had always preferred making puzzles to solving them. So she sat down on the couch, just far enough away for her not to feel so bad about her open gawking.

Sans and Papyrus.

Dr. Gaster’s … well, he definitely hadn’t called them his sons, even if she used the word in her head. All he had said was that they were living with him. But she couldn’t think of a name that fit better.

Sons. Kids. Dr. Gaster had _kids._

She could barely hold herself back from a wide, nerdy grin.

This opened up all _kinds_ of new theories about his personal life. Within five minutes of Asgore mentioning it, she had about ten different ideas about some secret lover Dr. Gaster had never spoken to anyone about, and within half an hour, she had come up with an elaborate plot for a fanfiction trilogy detailing the tragic tale of the scientist and his one true love, destined to live their separate lives, their love so strong that he agreed to care for their two children when his lover could not, how he started off unsure of his ability to raise them but how he went on to become the most loving, doting, marvelous father in all the Underground, and then of course there could be a fourth installment where she found a way to bring him and his love interest back together so they could be one big happy family and—

“DR. ALPHYS?”

Alphys jolted so hard she almost fell over. Her eyes fell onto Papyrus, who had managed to stand right in front of her for who-knows-how-long without her noticing.

“Oh!” She swallowed and forced a smile. “Y-yes, Papyrus?”

Papyrus hesitated, just a moment, before his sockets turned wide and hopeful. “CAN I HAVE A HUG, PLEASE?”

Alphys stared as she struggled to process the question. Then she blinked, and gave a slow, uncertain nod.

“Uh … well … sure. T-that’s fine.”

Papyrus’s face broke out into an enormous smile, and before she had time to think, he had thrown his arms around her and squeezed her tighter than she had thought a pair of bony arms could. She flinched, but a moment later she relaxed and settled her own arms around him, though far more gently. He nuzzled his head against her, letting out a small, content hum, and after more than thirty seconds, he pulled away, his smile no less wide.

“THANK YOU!”

Alphys could only nod as he turned and scampered back to his puzzle. Sans watched her with unreadable eyes for a few seconds before he picked up a puzzle piece and began to search for where to put it.

Her shoulders sagged, and all of a sudden she felt very empty and cold.

No. There was no secret lover or secret children or elaborate fanfiction.

Dr. Gaster hadn’t said anything about it, but Asgore had. She would never forget the pain on his face when he told her about the two little monsters who had been abandoned, who Dr. Gaster had found rooting through the garbage and taken in.

Well, actually, that would still work pretty well as a fanfic.

But looking at them now, Alphys couldn’t bring herself to think of these two kids as characters in some fantasy. Whatever they had been through, it wasn’t good. Orphaned children with no extended family or friends to care for them were rare. _Skeletons_ were rare. Alphys didn’t think she had even met one other than Dr. Gaster. Yet here these two kids were, alive, even if they hadn’t come out unscathed.

Her eyes drifted to their gloves. Asgore had mentioned those, too. Maybe, if she gave it some time and some work, she could see if there was anything she could do to help fix their hands. Or at least _see_ them, so she could figure out whether they were really damaged beyond repair.

Of course, if Dr. Gaster couldn’t help them, she doubted she could either. But maybe …

She took out her phone and made a quick note to do some research later on skeleton anatomy and medical procedures—maybe Asgore had some books on it?—then put it away before either of the boys could see.

She wasn’t about to let one more friend of hers suffer through damaged hands if there was anything she could do to prevent it.

After ten more minutes of puzzle-solving, Sans got bored and flopped down on the couch a few feet away from her, while Papyrus continued solving. Alphys usually finished puzzles like that over a few weeks, when she had time, but Papyrus had already completed the edges and a good bit of the center. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did the whole thing before he went to bed. She had found herself assuming that Sans was the sharper of the two after hearing them talk, and in ways, he was. But she had never seen someone do a puzzle quite as fast as this. Probably not even Dr. Gaster.

They were smart. Both of them, even if it was in very different ways. Maybe that was a skeleton thing. She didn’t know. It wasn’t like she had met that many of them. But the more she looked at Papyrus, the more she saw the similarities between him and Dr. Gaster. The shape of his skull, and his eyesockets. Dr. Gaster had never smiled much, but on the rare occasions he did, it looked a little like Papyrus’s.

Her brow furrowed.

Papyrus looked like him, and Sans was observant and calculating, like Dr. Gaster in the midst of an important project. At first glance, she wouldn’t have noticed it, but now … Dr. Gaster _had_ said they were abandoned, right? Besides, they were already so old, she would have heard about them before if they were his, wouldn’t she?

This wasn’t a fanfic. This was real life. If Dr. Gaster had had real kids, he would have told them.

Without a doubt.

… right?

“so youve known him for a while.”

Alphys barely held back a squeak, turning to face Sans to her right. He had been so quiet for the past five minutes that she had forgotten he was there. He took up almost no space on the couch and didn’t press the cushions down with his weight.

“Hm?” she managed, freezing under his stare. She cleared her throat and tried to smile. “O-oh, um … yeah, we’ve worked together since I started in the department. I mean, I haven’t been t-there _that_ long, but it’s been a while …”

“what’s he like?” Sans asked.

“Huh? Well … he’s … f-fine. He doesn’t talk much unless it’s about a p-project, and he can be a little harsh if I-I mess up. But …” She paused. What was she supposed to say? What was Sans even asking her? She forced her smile a little wider and her mind a little more focused. “He’s a really good person to work with. He h-helps me if I don’t know something. And he’s so smart! He’s done stuff I c-couldn’t even _dream_ of doing …”

Her cheeks were growing a bit red, and Sans was looking at her with something between confusion and concern. She coughed.

“So … um … w-what’s he like with you t-two?”

Sans stared at her for a second longer, then looked away, his eyes on his brother. Alphys fidgeted as the silence began to settle, broken only by Papyrus’s thoughtful hums as he slipped each puzzle piece into place.

“Um … how old are you again?” she asked. “H-he didn’t mention …”

Sans shrugged without turning his head. “dunno.”

“Oh. Right,” she muttered, coming very close to smacking herself in the forehead. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I heard about that, he f-found you two and … I’m sorry.”

Sans looked at her then, browbone furrowed. “why are you apologizin? you didnt do anythin.”

“Oh. Yeah, I … sorry,” she muttered. Her face must have been completely red at this point.

Sans didn’t look away this time. He stared at her, his eyelights burning into her, and for a moment, he reminded her frighteningly of Dr. Gaster.

“you look up to him,” he said at last, a touch of wonder—and something else, something deeper—in his tone.

Alphys tensed and bit back a squeak. “W-what?”

“him,” he repeated, though they both knew he didn’t need to. “you really like him.”

She sunk down in her seat and did her very, very best to keep herself from going any more red than she already was.

“Yeah, I … I mean, l-like I said, he’s a great co-worker, and he’s so s-smart, and he’s done so much work to help everyone, and …”

She trailed off, wringing her hands in her lap. But before she could think of a way to continue, to cover up her anxiety with some excuse, Sans turned away. She couldn’t quite make out his expression, but she could see his shoulders tense inside his sweater, his hands curling into fists, his brow lowering in something like frustration.

“everyone likes him,” he muttered, as if it were the strangest thing in the world.

Alphys just stared.

But after one of the most uncomfortable minutes of her life, she sat up straighter and curled her mouth into a smile.

“Hey, um, have either of you ever watched anime?”

Papyrus looked up from the puzzle, so fast that she had to wonder how much of the conversation he had overheard.

“WHAT’S ANIME?”

“Oh! I guess not, then.” Alphys had to hold herself back from an impossibly wide grin. “W-well, I can show you! It’s really great, you’ll like it, I p-promise, I brought some with me. We can start with this one …”

As she got up from the couch and picked up her bag, overflowing with DVDs she had packed just in case, Papyrus got up from the floor, and even Sans lifted his head to watch her, his frustration fading into curiosity.

Yes. She could do this. She pulled out the first DVD case, grinning like a total nerd, and gestured for the boys to take a seat on the couch while she put it in to play.

They made it through two episodes of Pokemon before Sans fell asleep, and another three episodes of Sailor Moon before Papyrus followed him, valiantly holding his head up and his sockets open as long as he could before he finally gave in and leaned against his brother. Even as the show continued to play, Alphys found her attention shifting from the screen and back to the boys, cuddled close together in their sleep, their soft snores barely audible above the sound of the TV.

She considered putting on Mew Mew Kissy Cutie, but didn’t want to risk waking them with her inevitable squeals.

The time passed by so quickly, so quietly, so peacefully with the boys asleep beside her, that when the front door opened, she almost fell off the couch.

Dr. Gaster stepped inside, his lab coat hung over one arm, his bag over the opposite shoulder, his face as blank and tired as she had ever seen it. It took a few seconds for his eyes to fall on her, but only half a second after that for him to notice the boys.

Alphys had been trying to read his expressions for over a year, but she swore that in the past few weeks, it had become twice as hard.

And before she could even get a good look at him, he had turned away, setting his bag and coat on a chair and looking to her again.

 _“Thank you for watching them,”_ he said, signing with his real hands for once. _“I hope they weren’t any trouble.”_

Alphys shook her head, so frantically her glasses almost fell off.

“Oh, um, n-no, no, I just hope they had fun … we watched some anime and did some p-puzzles.”

Dr. Gaster nodded, though he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

She stood up from the couch. She opened her mouth, then stopped, but after one more glance down at the boys, she opened it again.

“Is, um … is Sans alright? He seemed a little quiet …”

Dr. Gaster looked up, another unreadable expression on his face, different from the first. She fidgeted and waved her hands in front of her.

“N-not that there’s anything wrong with being quiet! I can be pretty quiet sometimes, too … but …” She trailed off, rubbing the back of her head. “He’s really smart, though. I can tell. And Papyrus … he’s a s-sweetheart.”

Again, Dr. Gaster turned away, though this time, he didn’t seem to have anything to do except for walk further into the living room. Alphys remained where she was, shifting her weight, but letting her eyes drift back to her two temporary charges. She could feel her expression softening the longer she stared.

“You must be really proud of t-them.”

Dr. Gaster was facing the other way, but Alphys was almost sure he flinched.

After ten seconds of heavy silence, Dr. Gaster approached the couch, bent down and slid his arms underneath Papyrus’s body to lift him into a cradle hold. Papyrus mumbled in his sleep and cuddled against him, one hand clutching at the collar of his shirt. Dr. Gaster kept his gaze forward, a little to the side. This time, Alphys definitely saw him stiffen.

He carried Papyrus down the hall and into the bedroom, and a minute later, came back and picked up Sans.

When he walked toward the bedroom this time, Alphys followed, as quietly as she could. She poked her head through the doorway just in time to see Dr. Gaster laying Sans down next to his brother. Sans turned on his side and cuddled against Papyrus, and with a sleepy mumble, Papyrus wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

Then Dr. Gaster reached over them and pulled the blanket up, tucked it around their tiny bodies.

Alphys came very, very close to squealing.

Then Dr. Gaster turned around, and she scampered away into the living room. A minute later, he followed.

He offered to pay her for her time, but she instantly declined, insisting that she had had a great time and she would be happy to babysit whenever he needed. He nodded, then bid her a brief goodnight. Alphys stuttered out her own goodbye and slipped out the door before she could make herself look like even more of an idiot.

A good ten yards away from the house, she let grinned, wider and wider as happy giggles slipped out of her throat. Oh, how she wished she had thought to take out her phone and snap a few pictures. Even if she never would have dared to share them.

Dr. Gaster was the last person she had ever imagined as a parent. But even if he was having a rocky start, he never gave up. On anything. And those boys were worth more than any project she had ever seen him take on.

Once he had more experience, more time, she had no doubt he would turn out to be a pretty good father after all.

Despite the chill of Snowdin numbing her limbs, Alphys smiled the whole way home.


	10. 8: Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ran out of thesaurus options. Uh ... have some confetti and balloons for how awesome you are? XD

Papyrus had discovered something new yesterday. Of course, he learned something new pretty much every time they left the house, and often even if they didn’t. Sans did, too, though he wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic about it.

This time, Papyrus had learned what a snowman was.

And all day, since they woke up, he had only talked about going outside in the snow to try to make something out of it.

That was no surprise.

What _was_ a surprise was when, late in the afternoon, Gaster started outside and told them, in his usual clinical tone, that he was going out to the yard, and if they wanted to go out, they could.

It wasn’t said with anything resembling an inviting tone, but he might as well have given them all the toys in the Underground for how wide Papyrus grinned.

Sans didn’t really care whether they went outside or not, but he would have followed his brother anywhere.

And he did today.

He stood about twenty feet from the house, to the right of where Gaster was now smoking. Papyrus had gone out further, still in sight but out of the yard, and began to roll snow into ball after ball, each coming up to his waist. He didn’t seem to be building a snowman, but he was enjoying himself, and that was all that mattered.

Gaster finished his cigarette after five minutes, but despite how hard Sans wished for it, he didn’t go back inside. He just stood there, looking around, his eyes on Papyrus a bit too often for Sans’s liking. Papyrus, of course, was oblivious to both of them, aside from trying to convince Sans to join him every few minutes. He invested himself in his work, rolling snowballs and moving them around.

The spot where he stood wasn’t particularly busy, but occasionally other monsters would walk close to where he stood. So far, three strangers had passed by, and Papyrus had greeted and asked for—and received—a hug from every one of them.

A tiny part of Sans—a very, _very_ tiny part—felt jealous. His brother’s smile was always twice as bright after he received a hug, and after spending his entire life only ever hugging one person, Sans couldn’t help but wonder if it felt as nice as his brother seemed to think.

But he didn’t plan on finding out any time soon.

Papyrus had always been enough. Papyrus _would_ always be enough.

“You aren’t going to go play with him?”

Sans’s brow lowered, but he kept his eyes ahead, ready to spring away if Gaster made a move, but refusing to acknowledge him unless it was necessary.

He had no idea if ignoring him actually irritated him. It was hard to tell how anything affected him nowadays. But that wouldn’t stop Sans from trying.

Another monster passed by, a smaller one this time. Maybe another child, or just a small adult. Either way, Papyrus approached them with a wide grin, introducing himself and shaking their hand as Asgore had taught them, then asking for a hug. The child hesitated, but a moment later, the two were squeezing each other tight.

Sans’s SOUL twinged.

“I’ve been looking around for monsters interested in adopting,” Gaster went on, and at last Sans glanced at him out of the corner of his eye—luckily his good one. But Gaster was looking forward, his expression as unreadable as it had ever been. “I’ve found several possible candidates, though more research is necessary to ensure that they are looking for more than one child.”

The lights of Sans’s eyes narrowed.

“research, huh?” he asked, voice lilting with as much sarcasm as he could put into two words. “how do you do that? do you saw open their heads, too, or do you just poke around in their eyesockets until you find—”

“Alright, enough.”

Sans tensed, and for a second, just a second, they were back in the lab and he was strapped into a chair and the laser was warming up and he was scared, he was _terrified,_ but he couldn’t move and he couldn’t show it and he readied another jibe just so he could focus on something else—

Then he was here. He was standing in the snow while his brother chatted with the small monster he was no longer hugging.

Sans stared, but Gaster still didn’t look at him.

His head tilted a little further away. “I think it’s clear at this point that I can never be what you two … need.”

Sans came very close to snorting. “oh, really? you figure that out all by yourself?”

No response. Just that same unreadable look, locked ahead of him. After a moment, Sans followed his gaze and found himself looking at his brother. The small monster seemed to be leaving now, and Papyrus waved them off with a wide grin and a hand high in the air.

There was nothing else to watch. But the thought of Gaster standing there, watching his brother, made too many alarm bells go off in Sans’s head for him to deal with. Especially now that he had no idea whether those alarm bells were warranted.

“I never wanted children,” Gaster said, in a quiet, monotonous voice that suggested he had meant it more for himself than Sans.

Sans stuck his hands further into the pockets of his coat. “well, then maybe you shouldnt’ve made some.”

“If you would let me finish,” Gaster bit out, with more open frustration than Sans had heard in a long time. Silence. Sans didn’t speak, curiosity weighing out, and at last, Gaster went on. “There are monsters out there who would be happy to take you both. Who would actually be a … a _parent_ to you.”

He paused again, and at last, he glanced in Sans’s direction. Just for a second. Far too brief for Sans to pick out anything from his gaze.

“And I’m sure you’d be quite happy to never see me again.”

That would be nice. That would be more than nice. To forget. To move on and just leave Him and the lab and _everything_ behind.

His hand twitched, and the metal brushed against the inside of his pocket. His face set.

He would never leave it behind. Not really. Not forever.

And even if he could … however badly he wanted to …

“you know … he always believed in you,” he said at last, quiet and far more resigned than he had intended. He felt Gaster’s eyes flick to him, but this time, it was he who didn’t look up. “my brother. right from the beginning, and he never stopped. no matter what you did to us, he always thought there must be good in you. somewhere.”

He looked ahead, toward his brother. Toward Papyrus. Toward the one person in the world who had ever mattered to him.

He huffed a sigh even he didn’t know the meaning of.

“and when you actually STOPPED, like he always hoped you would?”

Something was meant to come after that, but Sans’s mind was blank, so he just went quiet again and shook his head in silent wonder. Papyrus was back to rolling snow into large balls, but his smile had not faded.

“In some ways, his blindness is more severe than yours.”

“you know how tasteless that is, right?” Sans asked, though he was more surprised that Gaster had made a joke than offended. He huffed a humorless laugh. “i didn’t even know what that meant before. a tasteless joke. all i ever had was my own and yours, so guess that makes sense. then uncle asgore told me i made a lot of ‘morbid’ jokes.”

“ _Uncle Asgore_?” Gaster repeated, and though he turned to face him in the closest to shock He ever showed, along with a touch of distaste, Sans just kept looking at his brother.

Neither said anything for several minutes after that. No other monsters walked by, so Papyrus continued to roll snowballs. Instead of making them into a snowman, he seemed to be rolling them into a single-layered pattern on the ground.

It took Sans only a few seconds after he realized that to guess that his brother was making a puzzle.

A real one. A big one.

San’s smile tilted into something both happy and sad.

“but y’know … the whole time we’ve been here … my brother’s believed youre gonna get better. he thinks you really care about us. somewhere. and while we’re here, he can keep believing that,” he said. He felt Gaster looking at him again. Sans’s eyes never left his brother, growing softer by the second as he let himself forget the anger and the pain and the hatred and just focused on the overwhelming love he felt for the one who had been at his side through it all. He sighed. “if you find anyone who wants us, i wanna meet them first. sorry if im not too quick to trust whoever you pick out.”

When he glanced up, Gaster had looked away, staring at some particularly interesting patch of snow.

“Fine.”

“and they gotta be nice to my brother,” Sans added.

Gaster’s face shifted into the exasperated expression Sans had grown far too used to back in the lab. “Yes, I assumed that would be a minimum qualification for you.”

Sans didn’t think he had much in terms of “minimum qualifications.” Someone who wouldn’t hurt him or his brother, who would feed them, clothe them, give them a comfortable place to sleep. Someone who wouldn’t say things to upset his brother. Someone who wouldn’t pit them against each other, or try to make them hurt anyone or anything.

Anyone but Gaster, really.

Part of Sans just wanted to tell Him to give them the necessities and leave them be. They didn’t need “parents.” All they had ever needed, all they had ever _had,_ was each other. And as much as his brother liked Asgore and Alphys, as much as they had actually begun to grow, just a little bit, on Sans, he knew there would only ever be one person he could truly trust.

And he didn’t want anyone prying into things they would never, never understand.

But his brother …

Papyrus had always wanted a family, even before they had learned the word. He had wanted Gaster to be what Asgore had described as a “father,” even if Gaster was the furthest thing from a father that had ever existed. He had wanted someone to hug them, someone to love them, someone to genuinely care for them.

He wanted Gaster to be that for them.

And now, after everything that had happened, after what his brother had done that went from being the ultimate betrayal to the thing that saved them from a life of torture, Sans couldn’t bring himself to tell Papyrus that was never going to happen.

“ill always hate you, you know,” he said, almost without realizing it, so much bitterness in his voice it surprised even him. “it doesnt matter what you do. it doesnt matter how much stuff you buy us or how nice you try to act. it doesnt matter what my brother or anyone else says about you. ill always hate you.”

“I never expected any different,” Gaster replied.

Sans took a long, deep breath, letting the air fill his skull and slip back out through his teeth.

“did you always plan for this?”

“Did I always plan what?”

“to make us hate you.” Sans felt his hands clench into fists, and wondered how long it had been since he had felt the screws inside his bones every time he moved. “to hate us.”

“I don’t hate you,” Gaster said, a little too quickly, a little too automatically. “I don’t feel anything for you.”

Sans wanted to look at him, to raise his browbone and tell him with just that expression exactly what he felt about that statement. But he looked at his brother instead, and his hands began to unclench as his eyes fell on his brother’s wide smile and bright laugh when he completed another row of snowballs.

“keep tellin yourself that,” he muttered, not really caring whether Gaster heard him. Then he paused. “have you ever cared about anyone?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“seems pretty relevant to me,” Sans said, even though he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. If Gaster wanted to stay quiet, he would. But that had never stopped Sans from pestering him before, and he wasn’t about to start now. He leaned back on his heels, holding himself up taller, filled with the reassurance that could only come from watching Papyrus happy and healthy nearby. “my brother thought it was his fault. at first, at least. that we’d been BAD and maybe THAT was why you were hurtin us. that we just werent good enough, and maybe if we WERE, then youd stop.”

Gaster said nothing, but the silence was full, palpable. Sharp.

Sans had learned long ago how to feel, without even looking, when He tensed up. Even if it was gone by the time he could turn his head.

“You would make much better use of your time playing with 2—with him.”

Part of Sans wanted to smirk, but he couldn’t shift his permanent smile into anything more than a tight, pained grin. “ill stop if you promise not to tell him you actually cared about other people before you made us.”

“What good is my word to you?” Gaster asked.

Sans let himself snort. “none. i just wanna hear you say it.”

Silence. Not as sharp this time, but just as thick. Sans wondered if you could choke on air itself.

“I have no reason to tell him things that have no bearing on his life,” Gaster replied, and before Sans could even think of a response, before he could even process his words, he had turned around and started with slow, measured steps back toward the house. “I’m going inside to make dinner. Try not to fall into the river while I’m gone.”

Sans could have made about a dozen different jokes from that. But he didn’t. He watched Gaster’s back until he disappeared through the door and closed it behind him.

He stood there, motionless, staring, until a hand touched his shoulder and he turned to find his brother calling his name and inviting him to come try out his brand new puzzle.


	11. 9: SAVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder before I continue with the chapter: Sans and Papyrus are both victims of severe abuse. Even though they're the protagonists - the "good guys" - in this story, they both have _major_ issues, and neither of them are in a place to make fantastic decisions. 
> 
> Sans is a terrified child who doesn't trust anyone, who knows his brother _will_ trust most people, and as much as he loves his brother, this fact _scares_ him. His viewpoints on his brother's constant mercy are still shifting, because on one hand, it killed their one chance of escape, and on the other hand, _it seems to have been what made Gaster let them go_. He's scared and protective and all he can think about is that his brother is kind and trusting toward everyone, whether or not they deserve it. He can't understand how his brother can be so trusting, so merciful, and in a way, that makes him think of Papyrus as naive (even if he would never think of him as stupid), even as he admires his ideals. And the only way he can think to protect him is by hiding the bad things from him, by catching the bad things before they can reach Papyrus and Papyrus can let them hurt him. 
> 
> Papyrus is also a terrified child, who has just seen the mercy he so adamantly believed in _succeed_. He always believed that Gaster could be good, no matter how many times Gaster showed otherwise, and now he has _proof_. And suddenly he's not defending a dying ideal: his dying ideal _won_ , and his brother is completely thrown, and it's _Papyrus's_ job to make sure that he can enjoy this new life they've been given. It's his job to be happy, for the both of them. But that doesn't change the fact that he's scared out of his mind deep down. He hopes for the best, but everything in his life before this has led him to expect the worst. And he can't even show it, because showing how scared he really is might make his brother even more afraid.
> 
> Sans and Papyrus love each other more than anything in the world. But their ideals - and their ideas about the world - are still completely different, and neither of them will ever really understand where the other is coming from. They make their choices out of love for one another, out of the desire to protect each other, but that doesn't mean they're the right choices.
> 
> Again, severely abused children.
> 
> Okay, with that said, on to the chapter! Trigger warnings for panic attacks and more-directly-referenced-than-usual child abuse.

Sans had suggested that after going to visit the king so many times, they should have gotten used to it. But Papyrus never would. The castle was so big and pretty and the king was so nice and he gave them cookies and snacks and toys and he really seemed to _like_ them and staying with him was the best thing he could possibly imagine.

Though spending time with Dr. Alphys was a very close second.

Today was just as good as all the others, with more new toys to explore and a new recipe to try—even if it didn’t turn out very good—and lots of new games Papyrus had never heard of but which Asgore was all too happy to teach. Sans sat on the sidelines a lot, but every time Papyrus looked at him, he was smiling.

 _Really_ smiling.

That alone was enough to make the day absolutely perfect.

It was around the middle of what Papyrus now knew as the afternoon that Asgore left them alone for a few minutes, saying that he would be right back, that he had a quick “appointment,” whatever that meant. Papyrus didn’t mind—he knew when the king said “quick,” he really meant “quick,” and he never left them by themselves for long. He and Sans only spent around five minutes playing with something called a “hula hoop” before they heard the familiar heavy footsteps padding back down the hall.

Papyrus grinned, set the hoop carefully off to the side, and started toward the doorway.

The king stepped into view, smiling, but looking to his right rather than ahead.

Papyrus stopped.

There was someone with him.

Another monster, maybe a littler taller than Gaster, with blue skin and red hair pulled back into a long, flowing tail that fell off the back of their head. They were smiling, laughing, as they walked, making even someone as big as Asgore seemed very subdued at her side.

The two of them walked into the throne room like they had done it a hundred times before—Asgore had, of course, but Papyrus supposed this other monster had, too. As the new monster got closer, Papyrus guessed that it was a woman, even though he had found that it was often very hard to tell someone’s gender without being told. But they—she?—had the same body shape as Bonnie, just smoother and scalier. They were probably a she.

Once she and Asgore were halfway across the room, she finally looked ahead, her eyes landing on Papyrus and his brother. She stopped, and her laugh stopped with her.

She stared at them. They stared back.

Then her smile grew so wide it looked like it might take over her entire face.

“So you’re the little punks Asgore’s been telling me about!”

Her voice sounded like a she. But it was much, much louder than Bonnie’s, and even Papyrus found himself shifting back a little, while his brother stared up at her like she might eat them.

Asgore chuckled, and suddenly Papyrus felt a little bit better.

“Sans, Papyrus, this is Undyne,” Asgore said, holding his hand out to introduce her, his eyes soft and affectionate. “She’s a member of the Royal Guard. She comes here to practice with me from time to time.”

Sans didn’t look much less suspicious, but Papyrus stood up straighter, his browbone raised.

“WHAT DO YOU PRACTICE?”

Somehow, Undyne’s grin got even wider. “Fighting, of course!”

Papyrus’s brow fell, and he had to hold himself back from stepping away and frowning, even though he couldn’t keep a bit of distress from eking onto his face.

“SO YOU HURT EACH OTHER?” he asked.

Undyne looked like she was about to say something, but then she looked closer at Papyrus. Her smile got a little smaller, a little softer, and suddenly she didn’t look scary at all.

“Nah, not really,” she said, waving a hand to the sigh with a small laugh. “It’s just practice. Besides, it’s not like this big weenie would ever hurt anyone!”

She slapped Asgore’s shoulder, but she didn’t seem to be trying to hurt him. Asgore smiled and chuckled, but Papyrus saw something very sad cross his face before it disappeared again.

Then he gave Papyrus and Sans a soft, inviting smile.

“If you’d like, you both are welcome to observe our sparring session. I’ve been told it can be quite exciting.”

Papyrus couldn’t decide whether to be interested or concerned. But before he could answer, Undyne smiled even wider, so much he was afraid her smile might take over her face until she was nothing but a big set of grinning teeth.

“Hey, I’ve got a better idea! How about I give you guys a little training session of your own?”

Papyrus looked at his brother. His brother looked back. Neither of them spoke. Papyrus fidgeted, hunching his shoulders.

“UM …”

Undyne put her hands on her hips. “C’mon, nothing to be scared of! You look like two tough kids, and I can teach you how to kick butt!”

Papyrus stiffened further and gave his head a firm, fast shake. “I DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU, THOUGH.”

Undyne blinked, furrowed her brow, then rolled her eyes.

“Jeez, you’re just like Asgore, aren’t ya?” she asked, but there was a slight smile on her face, and her eyes looked fond. “You’re not gonna hurt me. And I won’t hurt you either, I swear. Just a little friendly sparring. I’ll give you some pointers and you’ll come out a little tougher. What d’ya say?”

Papyrus still hesitated, but his eyes drifted to Asgore, and Asgore gave both him and his brother a gentle, reassuring grin.

“I promise, children, no harm will come to either of you. Undyne would never hurt an innocent person.”

“Darn right!” Undyne shouted, holding out one of her hands and punching into the palm, her grin so wide it really must have hurt her face. “Only if they deserve it!”

Papyrus didn’t like the idea of someone “deserving” to be hurt, but still, he felt the last of the tension in his shoulders fade away. He smiled.

“OKAY! I’LL DO IT!”

“There we go!” Undyne beamed and gave him a pat on the back that almost knocked him over. “I like you already, punk! Papyrus, right?”

He straightened. “YES, UM, UNDYNE!”

Undyne beamed down at him, and Papyrus felt his chest warm.

“Cool! Come on, this way, I’ll show you where we train.”

Papyrus nodded several times fast, and as Undyne started out of the room, he turned to Sans with a wide, eager grin and waved him forward.

“COME ON, BROTHER, YOU CAN WATCH US! THEN MAYBE YOU CAN TRAIN, TOO!”

Sans didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic, but Papyrus was sure he caught a hint of interest gleaming in his brother’s eyes.

Even if he had hated anything and everything Gaster did to them, even though he had always been so pessimistic about his own abilities, he had also latched on to anything that could make him stronger. That could give him an advantage.

Papyrus didn’t like how his brother seemed so eager to hurt Him in any way he could.

But maybe this “training” could make him feel stronger without hurting anyone.

Undyne had said they wouldn’t hurt each other, after all.

After saying goodbye to Asgore, Papyrus and Sans followed Undyne through the castle, to a lower part neither of them had ever explored before. She took them into a large, empty room without any windows, but well-lit, with what looked like burn marks on the floor and walls and even the ceiling, some of the stone chipped away like it had been hit.

Papyrus frowned, but Undyne still looked comfortable, and not scary, so he kept following her.

He reached out to squeeze his brother’s hand anyway.

She motioned for him to stay on one side of the room, then asked Sans to move to the left so he wouldn’t risk getting hurt. Sans hesitated, but Papyrus insisted that he wouldn’t do anything until Sans was safe, so with a huff, his brother complied. Undyne nodded, satisfied, and stood on the other end of the room, with at least ten or fifteen yards between Papyrus and her.

“Okay,” she said, spreading her feet into a defensive stance and grinning at him with gleaming eyes. “How ‘bout you start us off, huh? Let’s see what you got!”

Papyrus fidgeted, and couldn’t help but feel a little like he was in the lab again, being told to shoot at a dummy … or at something alive.

“UM … OKAY.”

Undyne grinned wider and lowered her stance. Papyrus hesitated. Was he supposed to use his blasters? That seemed a little too dangerous. Maybe just bone attacks. He nodded to himself, then summoned a bone, took a moment to aim, and sent it flying through the air.

Right over Undyne’s left shoulder and into the wall.

Undyne furrowed her brow and glanced behind her, before looking back to him.

“Uh, you’re supposed to try to _hit_ me, kid.”

Papyrus tensed. “BUT I THOUGHT WE WEREN’T TRYING TO HURT EACH OTHER!”

“We’re not!” Undyne replied, a hint of frustration in her tone. “I can block it! Now come on, try and hit me!”

He glanced at Sans, and found his brother watching him with the same look of reassurance and encouragement that he had given him nearly every day in the lab. Papyrus’s hesitation disappeared. He looked back to Undyne, set his brow into a firm line, summoned another bone, and aimed it straight toward her.

And mere seconds before it hit her, she summoned a glowing blue spear and knocked his bone away. It flew to the side and slammed into the opposite wall.

She was beaming.

“There ya go! Nice! Pretty strong for a little punk!”

Papyrus felt his mouth curling into a smile, even though he still trembled at the thought of aiming a bone at a real, living _person._

He did it. He hadn’t hurt her, she had blocked it, but he _did_ it. And she was proud of him.

She was _proud_ of him.

She stood up straighter and held up the spear still in her hand.

“Alright, now I’m gonna throw one at you.” She paused, and her smile slipped. “Just, uh … use a bone to block it, okay? It’s not gonna be that strong, you’ll be fine, you got good HP.”

And just like that, Papyrus stiffened again, though not as hard as before. He spread his stance to match hers and summoned one more bone.

“OKAY …”

“Here it comes!” she called, pulling her hand back.

Papyrus eyed the spear, lowering his brow in concentration, and the second it was in the air, he had his bone held up, ready to strike. When it came just close enough, he whacked it, throwing it off course and sending it soaring to the left. It struck the wall behind him with a loud crash.

Undyne cheered.

Papyrus stared at the spear he had blocked, _he_ had blocked, with his own bone. He looked to his brother, found him smiling, _really_ smiling, his eyelights wider than they had been in weeks. Papyrus didn’t know if he had ever smiled this wide.

“I DID IT!”

“Good one, Papyrus!” Undyne called back, and she was still so proud, even _prouder_ now, her eyes gleaming, her smile so bright, making Papyrus’s SOUL feel warm. Then she turned to his brother, one hand on her hip. “Hey, wasn’t your name Sans? Come on, you next!”

Sans stared at her, silent, and Papyrus couldn’t tell whether his eyes were more bored or afraid. Either way, Papyrus took a step forward, drawing Undyne’s attention back to him.

“CAN WE JUST PRACTICE FOR A WHILE?” he asked, with his best pleading smile. “JUST US? SO MY BROTHER CAN WATCH FIRST?”

Undyne raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever you want. Wanna keep all the fun to yourself, huh?”

Papyrus wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just kept looking at her. She laughed again—she laughed a lot—then took up a stance again and told him to attack her again.

They went on like that, over and over, faster and faster, moving from one attack at a time to two to three to more than five. The fear in Papyrus’s SOUL gradually began to slip away. Undyne wasn’t trying to hurt him. She didn’t yell at him if he made a mistake, if he almost got hit. Well, she _did_ yell, because that was just how she talked, but she wasn’t mean about it.

And he got better. He threw stronger attacks, more and more confident that she could block them no matter how close they got, and he barely flinched when her attacks flew his way, sure that he could knock them away before they did any damage. Every time he looked to his brother, he got a reassuring, proud smile, and Undyne’s eyes grew brighter with every turn they took.

Undyne had her spear in the air again, grinning like mad, and Papyrus settled into his stance, smiling right back.

Then, just as she pulled her arm back, just as she readied her spear to fly, Papyrus saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

He turned.

There was Asgore, standing in the doorway, watching them with a soft smile.

Gaster standing just to his left.

When Papyrus looked back to Undyne, he found her attention on Asgore and Gaster, her arm still in the air. Stretched out in front of her.

The spear flying away from her hand.

Across the room. To the left.

Toward Sans.

Gaster’s eyes followed the shot, his sockets growing wide.

And Sans just stood there, staring, frozen, as the spear flew straight toward his head.

Papyrus didn’t even have time to cry out.

Then his brother’s SOUL turned blue, and he was flying across the room, toward the wall, he was going to hit it, it was Him, He was going to do it again, but this time it was his brother, He was going to kill his brother, his brother was going to die, He was going to kill him, kill him, die, die, dead, dead, _dead, dust_ —

Sans stopped.

And Undyne’s spear flew through open air, slamming into the wall.

No one moved. No one breathed. The silence had never been so heavy. Sans, his brother, not a pile of dust, his _brother,_ stood at the side of the room, his sockets dark and wide, his body frozen, as the blue glow around his SOUL began to fade.

Just as His hand fell limp to His side.

One second. Two seconds. Three, four, five.

Then Papyrus’s world exploded.

He scrambled across the room, arms out for his brother, have to get to his brother, keep him safe, protect him, be careful, always be careful, don’t let him get hurt, but he’s fine now, he’s not hurt, he’s not dead, but there was blue and there was Him and he was so close to wall, he was going to hit it, and he couldn’t survive it like Two could, he would die and then Two would never see him again, gone, gone, forever, gone, _gone_ —

Papyrus grabbed his brother and pulled him into his arms, and his brother went limp in his grasp, so still, he was too still, Papyrus held him tighter but he wouldn’t move he _wouldn’t move but he wasn’t dust._

And all Papyrus could do was scream.

He heard footsteps around him, voices, but they were blurry and faraway and someone was touching him and he wanted a hug, he needed a hug, but he jerked away from the touch and held his brother tighter, no one could hurt him, he couldn’t let anyone hurt him, not again, not anymore.

Someone was grabbing his hands, trying to pull him away, pull his _brother_ away. He wailed and sobbed harder and scrambled back, no no _no,_ no more, it was over, it was _over_!

The hands let go and squeezed his shoulders instead, thumbs rubbing little circles on the bone, gripping him tight but not hurting, so careful, someone was talking, that was Undyne’s voice, wasn’t that Undyne’s voice, why couldn’t he hear her?

“—Papyrus, you’re safe, your brother’s safe, everything’s okay, no one’s hurt, you’re—”

“HE WAS GOING TO KILL HIM!”

The words fell from his mouth before he felt them in his throat. Undyne went silence. No one spoke. The only sound Papyrus could make out was his own ragged breathing, the sobs torn from inside him, the tears that dripped off the edge of his jawbone onto his brother’s skull.

He shook his head, sockets squeezed shut as he struggled to get more air into his ribcage.

“H-HE … HE … I THOUGHT HE WAS G-GOING TO KILL ME, AND HE WAS GOING TO KILL MY BROTHER AND HE THREW ME AT THE WALL OVER AND OVER AND IT HURT IT HURT SO BAD AND BROTHER TRIED TO GET HIM TO STOP BUT HE WOULDN’T STOP WHAT IF HE NEVER STOPS HE HAS TO STOP HE HAS TO GET BETTER I KNEW HE’D GET BETTER HE STOPPED HE STOPPED HE … STOPPED, HE STOPPED … HE’S GOOD, LIKE I SAID HE WAS … HE’S GOOD … THERE HAS TO BE GOOD IN … THERE’S GOOD … HE’S GOOD …”

His breathing evened out, his sobs quieting even as he continued to shake. He settled his brother more securely in his arms, like he was sleeping, he was fine, they were fine, they were okay, He wasn’t going to hurt them anymore.

He had stopped.

He let them go.

He was good, just like Papyrus always knew He could be.

Papyrus opened his eyes and let his blurry vision drift to where Gaster still stood by the doorway across the room. But rather than standing there, watching them with that cold stare Papyrus _knew_ held so much more behind it, He had fallen to His knees. He sat there, limp, head hung low.

Not in sadness. But in defeat.

And when Papyrus’s eyes fell on Asgore and Undyne, just beside him, he found their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open, frozen in place.

Their gazes locked on Papyrus.

No, not on Papyrus. On his hands.

On his right hand, still resting on his brother’s back.

The bright red glove pulled halfway off, the metal plate beneath it glistening in the light.


	12. 0: Big Skeletons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your feedback, everyone. All I can say, really. :)
> 
> I normally hate taking liberties with the backstories of characters, especially when it involves inventing OCs. But … it was necessary for this chapter, so here you go. My take on Handplates!Gaster’s backstory.
> 
> Oh, and the kid referenced here isn’t Monster Kid, it’s too early for them.
> 
> This chapter is _long._ But I guess there’s a lot to go over. And this isn’t even everything, just to be clear—as you may remember from earlier in the story, Gaster is sort of MIA for a few days after the incident. He’s not able to deal with things all at once. But this chapter is when he takes the first steps to realizing, “Wow. I’ve made a monumental mistake.”
> 
> And for those who have read [this comic](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/158795261852/previous-since-gaster-pushed-papyrus-away-as), this chapter was written quite a while before that was posted (or Zarla even hinted at the physical damage Gaster sustained), and though I worked around it a tiny bit, it still sort of contradicts canon. It just would have been too awkward to rewrite at this point, and would have seemed forced to shove in this late in the story without addressing the issue in earlier chapters. So in this fic's universe, Gaster's physical injuries are not nearly as noticeable. Sorry about that. XD

Everything hurt.

His clothes were scorched and his head ached and he knew there would be burn marks that would take at least a few days to heal.

Everything hurt like hell. But he was alive.

_Why was he alive?_

He was going to die. He was _dying,_ 1-S had pulled him right into the beams and he felt it burn, felt the explosion throw him to the ground, felt his consciousness fade away. And as it did, beneath all the anger, at 1-S, at himself, at everything, he felt an odd sense of … relief.

It was over. They had finally done it. His own test subjects had killed him.

They would escape and all his work would be for nothing.

But they hadn’t.

They could have. It would have been so easy. He was drifting into the darkness, so close to death, all they had to do was detach his arm and hold up his hand and set themselves free and—

Then 2-P was there.

And there was warmth. Sparks of life, lighting up the shadows.

And he was alive.

And 2-P was sitting next to him, staying close even as Gaster smacked him away, so gentle, so concerned. And Gaster couldn’t think, he was rambling, he didn’t know what he was saying or doing, he took 2-P down the hall, not even bothering to use his magic hands to grab him. And every time he stumbled, 2-P was right there, trying to support him, and it was wrong, it was _so wrong, why was he helping him he shouldn’t be helping him he should be_ —

His time spent sitting by the wall helped very little. It calmed him enough to speak coherently, enough to take 2-P back, enough to say that he wasn’t going to punish 1-S, because _of course_ 1-S had attacked him, that was what he _should_ have done, and 2-P shouldn’t have _stopped_ him, he should have _helped_ him, why was he like this, why was he so _stupid_ and _merciful_ and—

He returned 2-P to the cell.

They talked. They shouted.

And when he went back to the control room and checked the monitor, he found them sleeping alone.

He left, even though it was still early. He couldn’t remember whether he had fed them at all that day, and certainly he was far behind schedule now, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He pulled on an old hoodie to cover his scorched sweater, he left the lab and he walked, mindless, thoughtless, barely conscious enough to keep from falling into the lava that bubbled around the Core.

The Core.

But he wasn’t supposed to pass the Core on the way home. He went through Waterfall, toward Snowdin. But even as he looked up and found himself walking in the opposite direction, toward the capital, he didn’t stop. He kept going. Even when the castle appeared, even when he stepped through the doors he had memorized decades ago, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t know where he was going.

At least, not until he made it halfway through the castle, and he heard two voices echoing from the throne room. One loud, feminine and unfamiliar, and the other as gentle and kind as it had been from Gaster’s earliest memories.

He reached the doorway and stopped.

As expected, Asgore sat at a little table across the room, at the edge of the garden. The lights had been toned down, as they always were at night, and it took Gaster's eye a few seconds to focus on him. He wasn’t alone. Of course, Asgore never had tea alone, and he certainly wouldn’t be smiling at nothing. A woman sat across from him, sitting tall and proud in her own seat, wide blue fins on each side of her face and a long red ponytail at the top of her head. Her smile made 2-P’s look small.

What was he doing here? He hadn’t been invited. He never went to the castle after the lab, he hadn’t gone to the castle in more than a week, so what was he—

He needed to get out. Just get out and go back to Snowdin and sit in his room and get himself under _control._

He took a step back, and in doing so, bumped his shoulder against the wall. The same shoulder that had hit the beams. The shoulder he hadn’t allowed 2-P to fully heal. He winced.

The two other monsters instantly went silent and turned to face him with wide eyes.

Gaster froze.

Asgore’s face lit up, and he might as well have stabbed Gaster through the chest for the effect it had.

“Oh, Gaster! What a nice surprise! Come in, come in! Have some tea with us.”

He waved him forward with one hand and patted one of the extra chairs with the other. Gaster put his hands up and shook his head, even though he had long learned that there was no declining one of the king’s “offers.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Not at all!” Asgore cut him off. “We just finished our training session and were winding down with some tea.”

He patted the chair again, and this time, the woman with him patted it as well—or what he presumed to be a pat, given that she came very close to knocking the chair off its feet. Gaster hesitated a moment longer, then gave in and crossed the room as steadily as he could, holding himself straight, his face blank, even as his trembling legs threatened to give out beneath him.

Once he had gotten halfway across the room, Asgore perked up once again.

“Oh! I don’t believe you’ve met Undyne, have you?” he asked. Gaster managed to shake his head. Asgore’s smile widened, and he held out his hand toward the woman at his side. “Well, Gaster, this is Undyne, one of the most accomplished members of the Royal Guard, who I am proud to say, um, ‘kicked my butt’ again today, as she would put it.”

The woman—Undyne, apparently—laughed, so loudly the sound echoed off the walls and made Gaster pause in his steps. She leaned across the table and “patted” Asgore as hard as she had patted the chair. Asgore kept smiling.

“Ah, you were going easy on me, and you know it!”

Then she turned to Gaster, standing only ten feet away now, and pushed herself out of her chair to approach him. It took a fair bit of effort on Gaster’s part not to step back, before he reminded himself that he was probably several centuries older than this young woman, at least given the fact that he had never seen her before. He stood his ground. She snatched up his hand and shook it almost hard enough to yank it off.

“Dr. Gaster, right?” she asked, grinning wide enough for the smile to overtake her face. “The Royal Scientist? I’ve heard all about you! I thought you’d never leave that lab long enough for me to meet you!”

He was tempted to say that if she kept pulling on his hand like that, he might not be going anywhere for a very long time. But he kept his silence as Asgore laughed.

“I really can’t believe I haven’t introduced the two of you before.” As Undyne at least released Gaster’s hand, Asgore held out his arm toward her, grinning, a bit like he had gestured toward Asriel after some big accomplishment. “Undyne has been coming to me for lessons since she was a child. Of course, now they’re more like sparring sessions. I don’t think there’s anything left I can teach her.”

Undyne laughed again, putting both hands on her hips.

“Oh, quit being modest!” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward Asgore. “This big guy’s the whole reason I’m where I am today!”

Asgore chuckled, the humble, bashful chuckle that reminded Gaster, just for a moment, why he had been so eager to do everything he could to make this man happy. “I wouldn’t say _that._ You’ve got quite a bit of natural talent.”

“Fufufu! Well, yeah, you got a point, but I didn’t know what to _do_ with it until you showed me!”

She turned to Gaster, and though none of her energy or enthusiasm had faded, her smile looked a bit gentler, a bit wiser, and suddenly she didn’t seem quite so young.

“You shoulda seen me when I first came in here! I was just this little punk, all fired up, ready to fight the king himself to prove I was the strongest! And man, did I try! I threw everything I had at him and I couldn’t land a _single_ hit!” She shook her head. “God, that was embarrassing.”

“You were only a child,” Asgore cut in, his tone fond. He smiled a little wider. “And I must say, it was adorable.”

Undyne scowled.

“I wasn’t _trying_ to be adorable, I was trying to be tough!” she spat, holding herself up tall and proud. Then she paused. “Failed, though. And you wouldn’t even do me the decency of fighting back!”

“Of course I wasn’t going to fight back,” Asgore replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You see?” Undyne asked, addressing Gaster again, affection in her voice. “Total weenie, this guy. He could’ve knocked me down in one hit, really showed me how stupid I was, but he didn’t.”

Asgore’s smile curled up into an expression that reminded Gaster far too much of how he had looked at his children years before.

“I understand you had your own little ‘challenger’ recently.”

“Oh, you heard about that, huh?” Undyne drawled. Her expression changed again, softening further even as it wrinkled with laughter. “Yeah, this little punk in Snowdin ran up to me while I was patrolling. Kept shouting ‘fight me, Undyne, I can take you’ or something like that.”

“And did you?” Asgore asked, somewhere between amused and concerned.

Undyne gave him a look like he had lost his mind.

“‘Course I didn’t! Not really, anyway. Gave ‘em a noogie they probably won’t forget, told ‘em to keep practicing and I’d train ‘em when they were a little older. They seemed happy with that.”

Her smile tilted into a smirk.

“Little disappointed, though, ‘cause if they were so eager to fight me, they must’ve heard how tough I am.”

Asgore laughed, a booming, genuine sound Gaster had sorely missed. “She is quite strong! The first time she knocked me down, I was sore for more than a week!”

“I _still_ feel bad about that,” Undyne muttered. Gaster got the impression she had never quite let go of her bitterness around that fact.

“Why is that?” Asgore asked, eyebrow raised. “That was what I had been training you to do, after all.”

Undyne hummed in thoughtful discontent, shrugging with one shoulder. “Yeah, but … how can you fight someone who won’t even fight back?”

Asgore’s smile disappeared, so fast that it might as well have not even been there. But Undyne had already turned back to Gaster, saying something about how boring lab work must be and how she would have to make sure to get him out more often. He didn’t listen. He watched the shift on his old friend’s face, the pain, the guilt, and for a second, just a second, he was ready to go back to that lab and do exactly what he had told himself long ago was the only option.

Then Undyne’s words, the words that had struck Asgore so deeply, echoed in his head, and he found himself once again thrown into the dark.

Someone who wouldn’t fight back.

One who would, without hesitation, but couldn’t. And another who _could,_ who had so many chances to do so. But never did.

Who never would.

Who held to his ideals to the point of making his bro—1-S look at him with something so close to hatred, even though there was no way that could last. Who would lie there strapped to a table and tell Gaster he could be good, that he would _help_ him be good, just before Gaster turned on the saw and sliced into his skull.

Like Asgore letting a feisty little monster attack him to her heart’s content without ever fighting back.

Even though that little monster couldn’t have done much damage, even if she managed to hit him.

Even though Gaster could do damage. Even though Gaster _had_ done damage. Even after he had hurt them again and again, 2-P never hurt him, 2-P _helped_ him, he lay there smiling up at him with hope that never died and Gaster had _seen_ those gentle eyes before, so many centuries ago, when Times was still there to pat him on the shoulder and offer kind reassurances and tell him he could do whatever he put his mind to, he could be the best scientist in the entire world, he could help so many people, he just had to keep trying, he could never stop trying, and—

“—and I’m not saying you’re a recluse, but you’re practically a celebrity around here and hardly anyone even knows what you look like, so really, let me take you around the Underground and—”

“Gaster?” Asgore cut in, drawing Undyne’s attention away from her words and back to him. He leaned forward in his seat, his brow tilted in concern. “Gaster, is everything alright?”

Gaster shook his head as he took another step back, god, he was going to collapse right there, not here, not now, he just had to get _away._

“I … I have to go.”

Both of them stared, blank and confused, and Gaster realized he had forgotten to sign it. Where were his magic hands? It didn’t matter, he just lifted his real hands, clumsy, tripping over his words, but this time, they understood.

But Asgore still pushed himself out of his seat.

“Are you sure you can’t stay a while? Was there something you wanted to speak to me about? You never did say why you came here. And if you’ll pardon my saying so, you look a bit … off.”

Gaster could barely breathe, he was still shaking his head as he moved back, back, further back, get away, just _get the hell out of here._

“No, I … I …”

And just as Asgore opened his mouth and lifted out a hand toward him—so concerned, so kind, _2-P had reached out to help him, too_ —Gaster turned and ran out of the room.

“Gaster? Gaster!”

“Hey, Dr. Gaster!” came Undyne’s call, sounding far more like a Royal Guardsperson with a wounded citizen than Asgore’s grown apprentice.

Gaster didn’t stop.

He stumbled down the hall and out of the castle and through the capital and Hotland and Waterfall, barely aware of what he was passing or what he was doing or who tried to ask him what was wrong. He kept going as the wet ground under his feet grew hard and slick, and he had to slow down to avoid slipping on the ice that soon turned to thick snow. Still, he ran, as fast as his legs would carry him, until his eyes fell at last on the familiar shape and color of his house.

It took him four tries to get the key in the lock, but once it clicked, he yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

The silent, stuffy warmth of his own home had never felt so foreign.

He pressed his back against his door and leaned against it, his body threatening to collapse as exhaustion consumed him. He pressed his hands to his sockets, and the empty space in his palms felt like ice against his skull.

It didn’t help. Even in the darkness, he could still hear their voices. Bouncing around like tiny marbles, bashing at the insides of his head.

 _I don’t want you hurting yourself, not for_ any _reason. I can’t lose you too._

_ YOU WERE HURT ... I COULDN’T JUST … _

_Uncle Gaster, you look tired._

_Pick me up, Un-Gas, pick me up!_

_Come on, Gasty, you’ve been at this for hours. The kids need another player for their game, why don’t you join them?_

He had never wanted children.

He had never particularly liked them, at least after he grew up. They were too loud and unpredictable and they ran around and made a mess of things, hardly conducive to a scientific environment, even the basic science he had done on the Surface. Aside from that, he had always assumed he would never be _able_ to have children, given his lack of a partner. He was far too focused on his work to think about finding someone, and he hardly had any friends to begin with, let alone someone he would care for romantically.

Everyone had died before he could consider whether he would have wanted someone at all.

But there had been time before that. A lot of time. A lot of time during which the few friends he made had found partners. Had had children. Times, in particular, seemed eager to have as many children as their SOUL would allow, and whenever Gaster rolled his eyes at their lifestyle, Times would just laugh and say that Gaster was welcome to his choice of life, but Times wouldn’t give theirs up for the world.

And they wouldn’t. They had five children at the end, and none of them were any less adored.

Sitka had been the oldest, and particularly quiet for a child. She was the only one he had allowed near his workspace, as all she ever did was sit and watch, asking a question here and there, though every time he turned to look at her, her sockets were practically glowing with excitement and admiration for her “Uncle Gaster.” She was a lot like Alphys, now that he thought of it.

Lucida had come next, nothing like their sister at all, rambunctious and loud and everything he hated in children all wrapped up into one little skeleton with the energy of three. They took more after Georgia, Times’s partner, and the two took far too much pleasure in pranking him at every opportunity.

Then there had been Avenir and Tamil, or Aven and Tammy as they were quickly nicknamed. Twins were exceedingly rare in skeletons, and they almost never survived. But those boys had, had beaten all the odds and gone on to be beloved by the entire monster community, smiling, picking flowers and giving out little gifts to anyone who was having a bad day. Gentle and naive. Affectionate, toward everyone and especially toward each other. Given a choice between violence and mercy, whether in a pointless squabble or a real fight, they would always, always choose mercy.

Like 2—

Gaster dug his fingers into his skull and gritted his teeth so hard they hurt.

After four children, Gaster had assumed Times was finally done. But of course, they just had to have one more. Born only three years before the war began. Not as quiet as Sitka, nor as loud as Lucida. Not quite as sickeningly sweet as Aven and Tammy, but affectionate nonetheless.

Gaster hadn’t met her when she was first born, not like the other children. He had been busier at that time, with the tensions between humans and monsters growing, and he rarely made time for his friends. But just after Corbel turned two, Times had insisted Gaster come to visit. So he did, grumbling and running through all the work he would need to catch up on even as he waited in front of the door.

Before he could even register it opening, Times had plopped a small skeleton child into his arms.

And god, she had been _small._ As small as a newborn. But her motor skills had been developed and her speech well-formed enough for him not to accuse Times of lying and handing him a sixth child instead of the fifth they had told him about.

She had been clever, and kind, and quiet, and gentle. The best qualities of all her siblings rolled into one tiny skeleton. She rarely fussed or cried, though she was quick to make her discontentment known in other ways. During his rare visits from then on, she followed him around as if tied to an invisible leash, her greatest request being a bite of his dessert, or sitting on his hip while he walked.

She had been the first of the five children to die, toddling away into the chaos while Times was distracted and finding herself right in the path of a human with an axe.

It was the first time Gaster had truly wanted to kill someone.

It was the first time he had almost succeeded, and instead had gotten himself so badly injured that he was useless for more than a week.

By the time he got back on his feet and raced to Times’s home, all that was left were the charred remains of the walls and roof and useless bone attacks sticking up out of the ground.

And six more piles of dust.

He wasn’t there for the deaths of his other friends. The battle with the humans happened so quickly, compared to what he had learned of past wars. It was over in a matter of weeks, and while he and the rest of the surviving monsters were driven beneath the mountain, the dust of hundreds, more likely thousands, of other monsters was left to be trampled upon and forgotten.

Including nearly every skeleton he had ever met.

There had been others, at first. Mostly older, stronger ones, who had managed to avoid their deaths until Asgore announced an unconditional surrender.

Most of them had had families.

None of them had started new ones.

Hardly any of them had lived more than two centuries past the end of the war.

But Gaster lived. He carried on, even as he suspected he might well be the only skeleton left in existence. At once, he pushed away his dearest friends and held them closer than ever. He drowned himself in his work, and he pretended that his dreams weren’t still littered with the bones of everyone he had lost.

He had never wanted children. He had never _liked_ children. But that hadn’t stopped Asgore from inviting him over when Asriel was just a baby, insisting he hold him, learn to rock him and sing to him, even though Gaster could never master the rocking motion and his voice was anything but soothing and Asriel usually fussed when Gaster picked him up. It hadn’t stopped Asgore from asking him to babysit once or twice—at least until he realized Gaster was quite possibly the worst babysitter in existence, but even then, he still made sure he was around to see his son grow up.

And even though he knew how much Gaster despised humans, he had still brought him to meet Chara after their adoption into the Dreemurr family.

Gaster didn’t protest. But he adamantly refused every suggestion that the children call him “Uncle Gaster.”

When they died, he found himself wondering whether he should have allowed it after all.

But he didn’t have time to think about it over the pain of his world collapsing. Of Asgore’s incessant pacifism finally failing as he saw humans for exactly what they were. Of the queen, who had mothered him whether he was a young student pulling all-nighters to get his degree or a centuries-old, accomplished scientist, looking at her husband with horror and disgust as he killed the next human who fell.

Of the queen disappearing.

Of Asgore falling further into despair with each human that died, with every day he spent putting on a smile Gaster knew he did not mean. Of the promise the king made to destroy all humans once they made it to the Surface, even though Gaster was quite sure the last thing Asgore had ever wanted was another war.

As much as it would have pleased him to see the people who had taken everything from them suffer and die just as so many monsters had done before.

How many times, in those brief, never-ending battles, had he watched a human stand over a helpless monster with cold indifference on their face, just before they delivered the killing blow? How many times had the human seemed to _enjoy_ it, to prolong their victim’s suffering until death was like mercy?

_did you ever enjoy it?_

1-S’s voice echoed in his head, and though he tried to squash it down, to silence it, it kept coming back.

_did you ever enjoy hurting us?_

Had he?

That rush of power, of control, he felt every time he silenced their cries or strapped them down or sliced into them with a saw …

… had that been enjoyment?

Had his face looked just like those humans had as they killed off nearly all of his kind?

Had he looked like that human man, who grinned as he held down a stunned Corbel and sliced off her head before she even had the chance to scream?

She had done nothing. She had never lashed out against anyone, and never a human. Some of the humans had even been fond of her, from what he had seen, as little as humans and monsters interacted in those days before the war. She toddled up to them and gave them flowers from the family garden, and they snuck her desserts and patted her head.

She was kind. She was gentle. She was innocent and naive and stu—

No. Corbel could never be stupid. She was just like her older brothers, unaware of the evil in the world, determined to see the good in everyone, so sure that—

_You’re even stupider than I thought._

Gaster groaned and pressed his head against the wall, feeling his trembling breath against what was left of his palms. He needed a cigarette. He needed several _packs_ of cigarettes. Because he couldn’t stop seeing those wide sockets, that bright smile, those little arms held out for a hug, and he _couldn’t stop seeing 2-P standing in her place._

2-P was an idiot. Gaster had been sure of that since nearly the beginning. He didn’t need the IQ tests to know it. The very fact that he refused to fight back, that he refused to just _let Gaster die when 1-S had done all the work for him,_ that he kept insisting that Gaster could change, that he could get better, no matter how many times Gaster proved him wrong.

That blind, unthinking kindness.

_ YOU MADE ME, SO … IT MUST HAVE COME FROM YOU, RIGHT? _

Him.

What kindness could have ever come from him?

When was the last time anyone had called him _kind_? Anyone but Asgore, Asgore who kept seeing the good no matter how much bad covered it up, like 2—

But not him. Never him. He wasn’t _kind._ He was intelligent, he was brilliant, he was innovative, he was dedicated, he was _determined,_ but _kind_?

When was the last time he had wanted to be kind?

The wall pressed against his forehead was mocking him. Laughing at him. The whole blasted _room_ was laughing at him, laughing at his weakness, laughing at the fact that no matter how deep he had gone, those old, withered parts of him refused to go away.

The thoughts had come, however much he had denied them, however much he had pushed them away and smothered them before they could grow. The thoughts of two little skeletons in sweaters standing at his side in photos. One holding his hand, the other on his hip as they walked through town. Handing him drawings he put on the wall even if they looked little better than scribbles. Sitting with the two of them on his lap as he read the next chapter of their favorite book.

Taking them to meet Asgore, watching him dote over them in every way possible. And Alphys, even if she would probably get them addicted to anime in under a week.

Teaching them the history of their kind. Telling stories of people they would never meet.

Continuing on skeleton traditions he had been so sure would die with him.

Showing 1-S everything about science that had so fascinated him when he was young.

Letting 2-P hold his hand.

Then he had picked up the plates and the drill, and those thoughts had begun to fade. Fainter and fainter, until they were little more than wisps.

But they never disappeared.

And they were _still there._ When he tucked them in when they were injured, when 1-S was so close to dying and he managed to heal him, if only for a second, _when he gave 2-P that blasted color cube—_

They never left.

They never would.

He could go right back to the way things were. He could perform his experiments. He could break them until there was almost nothing left to break, then fix them up only to break them again. He could subject them to every torture imaginable.

He could do things the humans in the war wouldn’t have dreamed of.

1-S would keep finding ways to fight back. Little ways to defy him, even if Gaster could squash every attempt as easily as brushing dust off his coat. He would keep trying, as long as he had something worth fighting for.

_ IT MUST HAVE COME FROM YOU, RIGHT? _

And 2-P would never stop trying to see everything Gaster had left behind so long ago.

Everything he had been. Everything he _could_ have been.

Everything so many people seemed convinced he still could be.

The sound of his own footsteps echoed in his skull as he stumbled toward his bedroom. It had been weeks since he last used it, more often passing out on the couch if he made it back to his house at all. The bed was still unmade, and the sheets were rumpled and stiff, but when he collapsed on it, it was the most comfortable thing he had ever felt.

They would have loved a bed like this.

They probably would have loved jumping on it, too. He caught himself wondering whether they would have been like Lucida, sneaking into his room in the morning and pouncing on him to wake him up.

He caught himself wondering at what point he had lost all chance of them ever doing so.

Ever looking at him like those five sets of eyes had, with fondness, admiration, the same familial love that Times had held for him, even if he never could have belonged in a family like theirs.

And as his eyesockets fell shut, he heard a voice in his head asking him whether Times would have liked 1-S and 2-P.

Whether they would have held them, sung to them, read them stories.

Whether they would have looked at Gaster with horror, with hate, for all the suffering he had put them through.

Whether Alphys would have still looked at him with admiration if she knew a fraction of the things he had done.

Whether the queen would have scorned him as she had scorned her husband.

Whether Asgore would have cared if Gaster told him why he did it.

Whether it would have been cruel to say he had done it for him.

Gaster bit back a groan and pressed his face into the wrinkled sheets.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow his thoughts would have calmed, as they always did. Tomorrow he would go back to the lab, as he always did. Tomorrow he would prove yet again that he was a far cry from the monster everyone believed him to be, as he always did.

Tomorrow he would show them—show himself—that he had already crossed the point of no return.

Tomorrow he would show them that it was too late to turn back.

_ EVEN IF YOU’VE DONE A LOT OF BAD THINGS … IT’S NOT TOO LATE! YOU CAN STILL CHANGE AND BE GOOD INSTEAD. EVERYONE CAN BE GOOD.  _

Yet as darkness engulfed him and sleep dragged him away, he found himself wondering whether 2-P was right.


	13. 10: Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! XD
> 
> Well, it seemed like everyone was pretty eager to find out what happened to the boys - there was really no other place I could have put the flashback chapter, but here you go, final chapter early!
> 
> And so ends _Bandages_. Wow. I know it's only thirteen chapters, but it's hard to believe this thing is really done. As I've said before, thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos, comments, bookmarked the story, or just read it. You've made this whole process more than worthwhile. :)
> 
> Just to be completely clear: this story was never meant to show that Gaster deserved to be forgiven, that he deserved a chance to be a father to the boys. Gaster never _wanted_ to be a father to the boys, and he lost that right long before he picked up the drill. He knowingly created two thinking, feeling children and submitted them to psychological and physical torture, quite a bit of which he couldn't even begin to excuse with the goal of "getting everyone out." What he did is inexcusable, and Sans and Papyrus have every right to never, ever forgive him.
> 
> But just because his actions were inexcusable, that doesn't mean Gaster isn't a complex individual, and it doesn't mean his feelings and his behavior can't change. As the summary said, though, no amount of Mercy can erase the damage you have already done.

Asgore’s tea was cold.

He could hardly remember the last time his tea had gone cold. Even after the deaths of the fallen humans, when he was at his most pained, his weakest, when he forgot the simplest things, his tea didn’t go cold. Even after his wife witnessed the first death at his hands, the first person he had killed in centuries of living, and left him, his tea didn’t go cold. Even after the war, when everyone was in despair and it was a miracle he could even find something that passed for tea, his tea didn’t go cold.

The only time he could remember his tea had ever going cold was the day after his children died.

And now a cup sat in front of him again, full, untouched, steam gone and beverage rapidly cooling, as Asgore stared down at it, if only because staring at the cup meant he wouldn’t have to look at the person sitting in the opposite chair.

If he didn’t, it was easy for him to pretend that it was just another meeting with a friend. That Gaster’s tea hadn’t gone cold as well. That he wasn’t looking at the table even more blankly than Asgore himself, his face as empty and cold as it had been since yesterday.

That there weren’t thin, glowing cuffs binding his wrists a foot apart, as Undyne had insisted they stay no matter how much Asgore tried to protest.

Asgore licked his dry lips.

“You know, I … I keep trying to think of the best way to begin, but nothing sounds right.” He tried to give a small laugh, to make it into a joke, but whenever he started he choked. He glanced up, just long enough to see the skeleton across from him staring at a similarly-full cup, his face as blank as it had ever been. “Would you like sugar with your tea?”

Gaster said nothing. He didn’t even shift.

Asgore let out a long sigh.

“No, of course not. You’ve always taken it black. It’s just that, with all that’s come forward, I didn’t know if that had …”

His voice died in his throat, and he didn’t try to revive it. He stared down at his cup of tea, with milk and sugar just like he had taken it for more than a century now. The one thing that had stayed the same even as the rest of the world shifted and collapsed.

He moved the little teaspoon to the side of the saucer, focusing on the gentle clink of silver against china.

“If I may ask one thing, to start with …”

Gaster shifted a bit in his seat, but said nothing, and still didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t look uncomfortable, per se. He didn’t look like anything. He was just … there. Asgore wasn’t even sure he was listening.

Perhaps he had never been listening. Perhaps every time he had looked into Asgore’s eyes and nodded along with every word, he was just pretending. Playing a role.

Or perhaps he had been listening to Asgore’s words better than Asgore himself.

Asgore swallowed.

“When was the last time you really spoke to me? Honestly? As Gaster, as my …?”

He cut himself off, the word dying in his throat before he could finish forming it. Gaster didn’t reply. Asgore sighed again, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I didn’t question it. Only their right hands being … damaged,” he murmured, more to himself, though he knew it was loud enough for Gaster to hear. He laid one hand over the other on the table and squeezed as he stared down at his tea. “It was a very foolish oversight, on my part.”

Gaster looked up, just for a moment, his good eye widened in something like shock.

_“Your Majesty …”_

“Can they be removed?” Asgore asked, before he could continue. Gaster stared. “The plates. Is there any way to remove them?”

Gaster held his gaze for a few seconds, then looked down to the table again. Asgore watched his expression sink in something almost as blank as it had been since he sat down, but with a crease in the bone between his eyes.

 _“Theoretically, it may be possible, but … it would be difficult. And … risky,”_ he said, his voice quiet, his hands pausing every few words as if they couldn’t decide what to sign. Gaster seemed to lower in his seat without moving an inch. _“Removal might cause permanent damage to the bone around the … screws.”_

Asgore heard echoes of screams in his ears. Screams he had never heard. Screams that must have sounded so much like the screams of those six children before they died.

Screams that had been ripped from the mouths of one bright, eager, smiling little boy, and from the sharp, quiet grin of one even smaller.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it came back twice as big.

“I understand.”

He tried, he really, really tried, to imagine one of his oldest friends holding two children down while he drilled metal plates into their hands.

But he didn’t want to imagine it, even less than he wanted to hear the screams, and his mind rejected it before the image could even begin to form.

This was _Gaster._ Perhaps he had never been the friendliest of monsters—or at least not the most social—but he would never … certainly, he had hurt people before, the war had scarred him deeply, Asgore knew he was no saint, but he wouldn’t—  

_I could kill them for you._

He had said that, hadn’t he?

And he had been so pleased at the idea. As if all of Asgore’s problems would be solved if it were someone else who was murdering children.

As if all that was bothering Asgore was the fact that _he_ had to do it.

He had been so ready to do it. And when Asgore turned him down …

Should he have explained why? Should he have told one of his oldest friends why he didn’t want _anyone_ to do this, whether it was him or not? Had he needed to?

If he had said something … if he had explained himself …

… would Gaster have still …?

Asgore looked at him now, mouth open, ready to speak, ready to ask any of the thousand desperate questions that had been swirling through his head for more than a day. But a moment later, he closed his mouth and hung his head.

He could ask all the questions he wanted.

But the chances of him getting a satisfactory response remained very close to none.

Gaster had scarcely said a word since that moment in the training room. That moment when Asgore had only wanted to bring Gaster in to see a bit of what his children did while he was away. That moment when Sans had come so close to death, when Papyrus had collapsed into a shaking, sobbing pile at something so simple as his brother being moved with blue magic, that moment when he had blubbered out bits and pieces of things Asgore could barely catch, but understood well enough for the facts to sink in.

Then Undyne had switched right into her role as a member of the Royal Guard—which included emergency care. As she brought Papyrus down from his panic attack, she looked him and his brother over, pulling back parts of their clothes to check for injuries. And before anyone could say anything to stop her, she had began to pull off one of Papyrus’s gloves.

Asgore had been standing more than five feet away.

But he would have seen the gleam of the metal plates from all the way across the room.

He wasn’t exactly sure what happened after that. He knew that Papyrus’s gloves must have come all the way off at some point, but he didn’t know when. He knew that Undyne must have ordered in some other guards to take Gaster away, but he didn’t remember it. He knew that he must have ordered them to stop, to not hurt him, to be gentle and just take him to one of the rooms in the castle and stay with him there until he could speak with him himself.

He didn’t go speak to Gaster for the rest of the day.

It was Undyne, rather than himself, who stayed with the boys until they were calm, who took them into another room where they could be alone, who ordered another guard to bring them some food and blankets. She may have been his subordinate—his former student—but when it came to official matters, she didn’t hesitate to take on the authority, telling him exactly what needed to be done in a voice that held more reigned-in anger than he had heard from her since she was a child.

The next morning, after the facts of the day before had finally sunk in, he went to the room Gaster had been given. He was so ready to greet him with a smile, just as he always had, ask him if there was anything he needed, try to sort through this problem just like he had worked through hundreds in the past.

Then he saw the two guards standing in front of Gaster’s door, and the magical cuffs placed around his wrists, and everything that had seemed so right to say died in his throat.

It took several minutes of silence before he remembered what Undyne had insisted be his priority: to take Gaster back to the lab and have him give his own testimonials about where the children had come from and what had been done to them, so that the rest of the Guard had something to work with when they began their investigation.

The guards by the door wanted to come with him. It was the first time in months, if not years, the Asgore had been so firm in refusing anything.

He tried to think of something to say on the way there, something simple they could talk about, if only so they wouldn’t be walking in silence, but his mind failed him, and in the end, he doubted Gaster would have replied even if he had managed to speak. And once they reached the lab, Asgore didn’t even try.

Perhaps he was meant to take notes, to remember details, to ask questions, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

All he could do was stare with wide eyes and pursed lips as Gaster led him through the hallways, making silent gestures and giving two-word descriptions for each room they passed. The room where the children had been grown. The room for paper and puzzle tests. The room where they had lived. And the many, many rooms where they had been …

The whole time, Gaster’s face remained blank. He looked as if he had left his body to move on its own, and he was somewhere far away, viewing it but not experiencing it.

There was only one moment when Asgore saw a flash of emotion cross his face.

And that was when they stepped out of the elevator leading into the ground-floor lab, and they turned to find Alphys, sitting at her desk at the other end of the room, sobbing into her hands.

As the elevator doors closed, she jerked around to face them, dropping her hands and staring, glasses crooked, face tear-streaked, her eyes falling first on Asgore, but only a second later, on Gaster. Her whole body tensed, and she stumbled back, almost tripping over her chair in the process.

Asgore had never seen her so afraid.

And for a second, just for a split second, Gaster looked like someone had stabbed him right through his SOUL.

Then the emotion was gone, and he was staring at the floor in front of him once again like nothing mattered in the world.

Alphys ran off, tears still streaming down her cheeks, before Asgore could get out a single word.

The two of them stood there for at least five minutes, neither speaking or moving. When Asgore looked back to Gaster, all traces of his brief slip were gone, and when Asgore finally began walking again, Gaster followed in obedient silence.

He gave a very basic report to another guard to relay to Undyne, along with a message that the door to the lab had been left unlocked, so she could begin her investigation when she liked. Then, rather than taking Gaster back to his room as Undyne had instructed, he took him to the garden, to the same little table where they had had their tea weeks before.

Only without the boys playing in the flowers nearby.

Asgore cleared his throat, if only because the silence was beginning to smother him.

“Undyne has found a temporary guardian for the children while we search for permanent adoptive parents. A woman from Snowdin, a shopkeeper. Apparently she knows them, and as she’s childless herself, she would have no problem taking them in for a time.”

Gaster’s browbone twitched, but he gave no response other than a small nod. Part of Asgore wanted him to get down on his knees and beg for another to chance to care for them, another chance to actually be the father Asgore had truly believed him to be.

He didn’t, of course. He just sat there.

Asgore cleared his throat.

“They should be moving in with her tomorrow, once she has her house ready, since she wasn’t expecting children,” he went on. “Until now, they’ll stay here.”

Another nod, smaller this time.

Asgore didn’t speak for several minutes after that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so silent while having tea—if it even counted as having tea if neither of them were drinking it. Then again, he also couldn’t remember the last time anyone in the Underground had been arrested. They didn’t even have a procedure. If someone did something wrong, Asgore spoke to them, found out what the problem was, and fixed it.

But he couldn’t talk to Gaster. Not if Gaster wouldn’t talk back.

And there hadn’t been a wrongdoing that couldn’t be fixed with a simple apology in centuries.

Not one recognized by most monsters as a wrongdoing, at least.

“Sans mentioned something,” Asgore said, the words falling from his lips almost before he thought them. But though he paused, he didn’t stop. “I’m not sure if he meant to, he was still rather … incoherent, at the time, but he made a comment about you doing something to fix his eye.”

Gaster’s shoulders stiffened. It was a slight movement, but Asgore had long learned to pick up on the minute details of his expressions. The blue hands appeared and paused over his head, then finally began to sign, accompanied by the unintelligible, quiet intonations of his voice.

_“It was … a failed experiment.”_

Asgore’s SOUL twisted. It probably would have been less painful to have it ripped down the middle. He managed a small nod.

“I see,” he replied, in as neutral a tone as his tightened throat would allow. He hesitated. “And you were trying to repair it?”

His voice tilted up at the question, and he knew he sounded desperate. Probably pathetic, grasping for a hold when he was already tumbling into a bottomless pit. But he didn’t take it back.

Gaster’s second hands paused a few more seconds before they moved again.

 _“Previous attempts have failed, but I believe this new method may have yielded better results,”_ he replied, his words carefully formed, like the few remaining fruits plucked off of a dying tree.

Asgore listened so hard that his ears hurt, listened for guilt, for regret, for pain, for hope, for _anything._ Any sign of his old friend, who had done his best to help his own kind and so many other monsters in the early days.

He heard nothing.

But Asgore had known him too long for him to believe there was nothing to hear.

No matter how much everything he had ever thought about this man had been turned on its head.

“And would you still be willing?” he asked, unable to keep all the hope out of his voice. “If Sans agreed to the procedure, would you attempt it?”

Gaster’s gaze never shifted from his untouched cup of tea. _“If that is what you wish, Your Majesty.”_

“That’s not what I’m asking, Gaster,” Asgore replied with a soft sigh. But he knew he couldn’t force it. He could influence Gaster, certainly, but he had never been able to make him do something he truly didn’t want to do. That wouldn’t stop him from trying. “You put in all that effort, even though no one asked you to. No one would have known that you … caused it. Yet you still tried to fix it.”

He kept looking at him, waiting, expecting, but he never got a response. Gaster might have gone deaf in the last few seconds and he wouldn’t have known the difference. Asgore waited a little longer. Waited as he would have waited an eternity for such an old, dear friend.

Waited, just as he had done the entire time this mess was forming around him.

“Would you like some more tea?” he asked at last, his small smile tight and shaky.

Gaster shook his head. _“No, thank you, Your Majesty.”_

Asgore’s smile faded. He let out a long, heavy breath.

“Very well.” He fiddled with his fingers in front of him, looking away, reminding himself to breathe when he kept forgetting until his chest ached. “I’ll take you back to your room, if you like. Tomorrow, we can discuss …”

He stopped.

He didn’t want to finish. He didn’t want to say “your sentence,” or “your trial,” or any of the other dozen things that came to mind. He didn’t want to share this news with anyone, tell them that the Royal Scientist who so many looked up to had committed one of the worst crimes known in monster history. He wanted to invite Gaster to have lunch, or go tour parts of the Underground neither of them had seen in a while, or just sit and talk about things no one else could understand.

If Gaster was to be sentenced, to be locked away, to be treated as a criminal, then shouldn’t the same be done to Asgore?

How could he make his subjects look upon Gaster with disdain and horror, while they still called Asgore their savior?

Is this what monsters had come to? Torturing and murdering children for the sake of hope and freedom?

Asgore looked at Gaster, sitting across the table from him, staring at his cup of tea like he had just been sentenced to death, and felt for all the world like he was looking in a mirror.

What right did he have to sit here, free, while six small corpses lay rotting away in the basement?

So he didn’t say anything, and neither did Gaster. A minute later, Asgore stood from his chair, and Gaster followed without complaint. They walked side by side through the castle, as they had walked so many times before. If Asgore let his mind drift, he could pretend that it was just like so many times before. They were just going for a walk. There were no secrets. There was no pain. No one was tortured or dying, Toriel was with him and Asriel and Chara were laughing just down the hall—

But the echo of only two sets of footsteps in the long, empty hallway was far too loud for him to believe that for long.

Asgore took the scenic route, as if he feared that this would be the last time he could walk with his old friend. Maybe it was. In the depth of his thoughts, he didn’t notice the rooms they were passing, or the one room that Undyne must have told him was occupied, even if he hadn’t been listening.

He didn’t notice the sounds from within until they had passed right by it, and seconds later, the door opened.

Asgore stopped. Gaster stopped with him.

They both turned.

And two sets of eyesockets stared back at them.

It was so strange, seeing the boys now. Before, just a glimpse of them made Asgore smile. Now, all he could see were the gloves covering up those plates, the sweaters that might cover up any number of scars he hoped to never see, and the way Sans’s whole face tensed when his gaze fell on Gaster, his smile tight, his eyes dark.

Had he been looking at him like that the whole time?

Papyrus, for his part, stiffened, but his gentle expression remained. Just like it had always remained, whether Gaster was ready to smack his hand away from a cookie or dropping them off at the castle without so much as a goodbye.

“OH. HELLO.”

Sans reached out and took his brother’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze without looking up. Papyrus barely seemed to notice, even as he squeezed back. He fidgeted, but kept looking up.

“I … I GUESS WE WON’T BE LIVING WITH YOU ANYMORE.” He waited for a response, but Gaster gave none, and Asgore couldn’t think of a single thing to say to the child that might do any good at all. But after a moment, despite the silence, Papyrus smiled. “THANK YOU FOR LETTING US STAY IN YOUR HOUSE FOR A WHILE. THE ROOM YOU GAVE US WAS VERY NICE.”

Gaster turned his head further away, such a minute gesture Asgore barely caught it. Sans’s eyes drifted in his direction, following every movement, but still, he said nothing.

Papyrus’s smile fell. He looked to Asgore to Gaster and between them several more times.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

Gaster didn’t move. Asgore let out a long sigh and gave Papyrus his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about, Papyrus. We’re just … taking a walk.”

But Papyrus only frowned, his browbone furrowing. He looked at Gaster again, harder this time. His free hand curled a bit at his side. He met Asgore’s gaze, a flash of panic in his wide sockets.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM, ARE YOU?”

Asgore’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn’t even bring himself to close it. Papyrus kept staring, waiting, more distressed by the second.

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO HURT HIM,” he went on. A pause. “PLEASE DON’T HURT HIM.”

Sans squeezed his hand so hard it must have hurt, but Papyrus’s eyes didn’t leave Asgore for a second. Never in his life had Asgore seen a child’s face so desperate.

“I KNOW HE DID A LOT OF BAD THINGS, BUT YOU SHOULDN’T HURT HIM.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his gaze drifting toward Gaster. “HE GOT BETTER. HE STOPPED! AND HE GAVE US CLOTHES AND TOOK US HOME AND LET US PLAY IN THE LIVING ROOM AND THE YARD AND … AND …”

He trailed off, his breathing erratic, his arm shaking from the pressure of holding his brother’s hand so hard.

At last, Asgore managed to close his mouth, and let out a soft, pained sigh.

“No one is going to hurt him, Papyrus,” he said, with as much confidence as he could muster.

The tension in Papyrus’s shoulders fell, though his little body remained somewhat stiff.

“OH. THAT’S GOOD.” He turned his attention back to Gaster and tilted his head. “ARE YOU GOING BACK TO YOUR HOUSE?”

Gaster still gave no response. Asgore couldn’t decide whether it would be better to nudge him to say something or let him keep his silence. He wasn’t sure he would like whatever came out of Gaster’s mouth.

But Papyrus’s enthusiasm, though dimmed, was never completely deterred. He kept his head held high.

“WELL … WHEREVER YOU’RE GOING, I HOPE IT’S NICE.”

Asgore couldn’t be sure, but he swore he saw Gaster’s hands twitch at his sides.

Papyrus shifted his weight again, and offered a small, hopeful smile. “GOODBYE.”

In a vain attempt to counter Gaster’s silence, Asgore gave him a smile and a nod. But the second he started to turn away, ready to lead Gaster to another part of the castle, Papyrus’s voice stopped him.

“OH! WAIT!”

Asgore turned back, but Papyrus had already let go of his brother’s hand and scampered into the room, leaving two people staring after him and one still resolutely looking away. A moment later, Papyrus returned, something small and colorful clutched in his hands.

He paused just outside the door, then stepped forward, until he stood at Gaster’s right side. He held his hands out in front of him, looking far smaller than he really was.

“I KNOW YOU LET ME KEEP IT BEFORE, BUT … IF WE WON’T BE WITH YOU ANYMORE … DO YOU WANT IT BACK?”

For the first time Asgore got a good look at what Papyrus was holding. He had seen it so many times, the only thing either of the boys brought with them nearly every time he watched them. The item Papyrus had treasured and held close, making sure it never got so much as a scratch on it. Treasured like it was the most precious thing he owned.

And maybe it had been.

But now, Papyrus held out his color cube with a sad, but mostly gentle smile, ready to give it up without complaint.

Asgore couldn’t see Gaster’s face from where he stood. But he could see the tiny flinch in his shoulders, the way his head shifted ever so slightly toward the cube, giving it a brief glance before turning away again.

“ ~~It’s yours.~~ ”

The words came out in his usual gibberish, and no hands appeared near his head to translate. Asgore was very close to insisting he know what Gaster had said, but before he could speak, Papyrus pulled back the cube, hesitating before giving a wide, happy smile.

“THANK YOU!” He held the cube close to his chest, all but beaming. “I’LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF IT!”

Gaster said nothing, didn’t even look at him, but Asgore saw him give a small, slow nod.

Papyrus glanced at his brother, then back to Gaster. “WELL … GOODBYE, THEN.”

He waited a few seconds longer. Nothing. He let out a soft breath and walked over to join Sans where he still stood, stiff as a pillar, by the open door to their temporary room.

Asgore sighed, gave the boys a brief nod, then turned and started down the hall, ready to take Gaster back to his own room, back to where he would be staying until they—he—could decide what was to be done.

But when he looked over his shoulder, he found Gaster unmoved.

He opened his mouth, then paused as he saw Gaster’s one good eye, staring at the ground in front of him, looking all at once like the bright, eager young skeleton on the Surface who had devoured books and built little contraptions and studied the world around him in his best attempt to help those he loved, and a very old monster shrouded in shadows.

Shadows he had not asked for, at first. But shadows he had embraced, delved into until they consumed him and left nothing but a shell of what he was before.

Gaster sighed and let his eye close.

“ ~~Goodbye, Papyrus.~~ ”

Papyrus’s head snapped up, his sockets wide, mouth open, but before he could get out a single word, Gaster broke into a brisk walk, striding along at Asgore’s side, down the long hallway and back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stayed tuned for the sequel, _Blue_ , Sunday of next week. ;)


End file.
